


The Simple Cruelty

by skylights22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bullying, Character Death, Graphic Sex, Harry's a bit dark, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Bondage, Lots of gratuitous sex and squishy feels, M/M, Mindfuck, Mobs, Mystery, Offscreen Dubious Consent, Post War, Post-War, Stalking, Threesome, Totally plot points though, onscreen noncon kissing, yes there's plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-12-20 23:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 66,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11931474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights22/pseuds/skylights22
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Harry tries to piece himself together. Maybe people will realize he isn't anyone's storybook hero.When the two most unlikely people begin to admire his cruel edges, something like love opens a door none of them expected. That Harry Potter isn't the sweet-sung champion. That Severus Snape isn't a heartless demon. That Draco Malfoy isn't empty promise. As the three begin to build something like peace together, they forget that heroes and villains aren't allowed to write their own happy endings.Someone stalks the Boy Who Lived, and their love, won in the quiet moments between their selves and their shadows, may become nothing more than a dream.





	1. Chapter 1

Beginning ~ 

 

Harry Potter didn’t feel well. Though he didn't feel particularly sick either. Strange things had been happening all month. Though really, he mused, strange things were just part of his life. He stared down at the treacle tart that had accompanied the dinner he did not eat, wondering why he was just holding onto to the fork like a nitwit and staring at it. Maybe it was because he couldn’t remember if he liked it. He couldn’t really recall eating it before, though he was absolutely sure he had. But, he had no idea what it tasted like.

 

Now, he was pretty sure normal people would just eat the damn thing and stop thinking about it. If he didn’t remember what the bloody hell it tasted like, the most obvious solution was sticking the blasted thing in his mouth. He set the fork down. It didn’t really matter anyway. He wasn’t all that hungry.

 

“Harry, you haven’t touched any of your food.”

 

Harry found himself turning to Hermione with a smile on his face, though his first response was to grimace. The words tumbling out of his mouth sounded like him. They were exactly the sort of things he would say to keep Hermione from worrying about it, which of course meant they were completely untrue. 

 

“I’m just excited about tomorrow’s quidditch match.” But he wasn’t, which was rather strange wasn’t it? Because he loved quidditch. Didn’t he? “You worry too much, ‘Mione,” he said with a chuckle, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

 

He didn’t normally like touching people, but he found he was doing it quite often these past few weeks. He was a little cheekier with the teachers than he thought appropriate and he had even poised for some of Colin’s shots three days ago. He remembered the day because it had felt so odd doing it. Three days and he still felt embarrassed. 

 

He watched some poor second year Slytherin trip on a hex and land on his palms.

 

He laughed. “Snake’s not used to legs.” 

 

“What’s with you?” Hermione hissed. 

 

“What do you mean?” he said completely bewildered.

 

“You’re… acting like a prick,” she said, sounding as confused as she did upset.

 

“It was just a joke,” he snorted. “See, he’s fine,” he said, watching the kid stand up and scurry over to his table. 

 

He took a sip of pumpkin juice, though it felt a little tasteless on his tongue. The small feeling that something was horribly wrong was baseless and ignored. 

 

o.O.o

 

Harry woke in bed that night with a scream unvoiced, covered in cold sweat and absolutely no idea what he had dreamed.

 

o.O.o

 

Harry was serving detention with Professor Snape for telling Cassiopeia Crossing that her aunt and uncle deserved to be Kissed. He grumbled to himself, making a half-ass effort to scour the filth from the cauldrons. It was caked on tough, and Snape could probably just clean it with a swish of his wand anyway. 

 

He was such an idiot when he was younger, actually _cleaning_ the things. He was missing quidditch practice for this. 

 

“Apparently cleaning cauldrons is too difficult for you, Potter,” Snape sneered above him, viewing the layers he hadn’t troubled himself to slave over. “And it seemed like such a simple task.”

 

Harry bristled. “You could always do it yourself, _sir_ ,” he snarled. “I don’t even deserve to be down here.”

 

His eyes narrowed, his lip thinning. “You think telling a twelve year old girl that her family deserves the Kiss doesn’t merit a detention?”

 

“She’s a Slytherin.”

 

Snape grabbed him by his collar. Startled, Harry cursed at him and flailed against his hold. 

 

“I seem to recall that you were almost put in Slytherin yourself,” he hissed, somehow managing in that special way to turn all whispered words into barbs.

 

Harry almost spat in his face. “You’re delusional.”

 

“Harry, what the hell in wrong with you?” he said, his voice changing into something that Harry could not understand. 

 

Harry sent him a disgusted look, succeeding in smacking his arm away. “Wrong with me? Are you mental? Where do you get off calling me ‘Harry?’”

 

“Get out,” Snape said lowly, black eyes burning like tar.

 

Harry sniffed, pleased to have gotten himself out of detention early. “Gladly.”

 

He didn’t close the door behind him as he stormed out, his stomach churning like it had when he had faced a Hungarian Horntail with nothing but a broom. 

 

o.O.o

 

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, his voice loud enough to carry across the Hall as he recounted the last quidditch game. He moved the pieces of bread and potatoes about his plate as he spoke. He cut the slab of roast into quarters, then into strings before mixing it in with his potatoes and continued talking and laughing, allowing Ron and Seamus to interrupt only with brief exclamations. He ate nothing, and he certainly didn’t look up at the table where the teachers were watching him in confusion and concern. Hermione’s small quips about his health and his new viciousness was ignored as neatly as her nagging about homework, which he hadn’t completed in weeks. 

 

He ignored how his memory continued to fade, and he ignored how his wand was starting to fail him. He ignored the nightmares and the way he sometimes slashed his razor over the neck of his reflection when he shaved in the morning. Everybody wanted to be him. He didn’t feel guilty about pushing that third year down the stairs or hexing that first year’s pants to make it seem like he wet himself constantly throughout the day. He didn’t acknowledge the regret he had for shagging Lavender in the broom closet two days ago, though he wasn’t even sure if he had been a virgin - of course he wasn't - or that Ravenclaw girl yesterday. 

 

He smiled as Colin’s camera flash went off, wishing he had been looking so he could have smirked. 

 

“Hey Harry,” Lavender called. 

 

For a second, he flinched, but the feeling was as brief as his appetite. He pulled her into his lap. She gave a squeal, making a show of fighting him off and hiding her exposed pants. When she righted herself, she pretended to be irritated at him a moment before flinging her arms around his neck. 

 

“You said I could borrow your notes from Herbology.”

 

He reached under the table for his bag, making a show of brushing his face against her breast. Lavender slapped him while Mauchery wolf-whistled. A shiver that felt strangely like repulsion went through him, but he took another look at her pretty face and it was gone. 

 

“I gotta warn you,” he said, handing her a notebook. “I do shit in class.” He perfected the statement with a grin, counting how many people were watching him and how many of them had decent tits.

 

Lavender smirked in response. She was perfect really. Dumb as fuck, thought sex meant love, blonde, and had an hourglass figure that couldn’t have been more proportionate in a magazine. She started to say something, a smile on her face, before she opened the journal. For a moment, Harry could only see the stupidity on her face and none of the prettiness, which made him upset. She looked so ugly when she was trying to think. But before he could talk to her, she decided to speak.

 

“What is this?”

 

He had a sarcastic comment ready, but the page was sitting open, and he couldn’t help a single glance. The words froze in his mouth, and he sat up, not caring the way she whined about being pushed against the table. The words were pressed together in shorthand, written over and over and over.

 

_help me_

 

He shoved Lavender out of his lap and flipped through the pages. It was the same on almost every page. Large. Small. Jagged. Desperate.

 

_help me save me HELP kill me please I don’t want this help me KILL ME_

 

He stared at it, his hands trembling before he threw it away and rifled through his bag, tearing the other notes from the bottom. His writing slanted and the words screamed. 

 

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

 

Other students crowded around him. Normally, Harry would have enjoyed that, but he wanted to bite them. 

 

Hermione had picked up the journal. “Harry, this is your handwriting,” she said, staring at him with concern. 

 

Harry shook his head. “No. No! I didn’t do it! I didn’t write any of that!” He stood, slamming into someone behind him, who scrambled to get out of the way. “I didn’t write any of it! This is a joke!”

 

His voice echoed throughout the Hall, coming back to him. He didn’t write that. He didn’t write that. He was doodling. He had been doodling. He could remember doodling. He thought but couldn’t remember the pictures.

 

“No, I was…”

 

Draco Malfoy was suddenly standing beside Hermione, reading the pages with an ashen expression. Something about him, he thought, and he started a scream. His breath fell short, blackness gathering at the corner of his eyes. The journal was moving from both their hands. From a small space, nausea rising like a curtain call, he could see Snape’s face. And something about that was familiar too.

 

“You… and… I… you…”

 

It came back to him suddenly, emotions that he was sure – almost sure – no, they weren’t – were his. What was… Changes. He had… like his father. He couldn’t… memories, things were missing, he was wrong. It was wrong. The pages weren’t real. Sssss- A name like… It wasn’t… and it wasn’t real. When had he… When was the last time he ate? When was the last time he could remember anything? Why had he…

 

He slapped a mouth over his mouth, but bile came through anyway, spraying his fingers and chin. Someone screamed in disgust. Harry fell like he was falling.

 

He...

 

“Catch him!”

 

_Help me._

 

o.O.o

 

Seven months earlier ~

 

Harry watched the landscape roll by the window. The cars knocked against the tracks, making him sway in familiar motions. The glass was cool on his forehead, the land beyond it perfect enough for a poster. The greens and blues mixed so well. They were happy colors.

 

He sighed.

 

Ron and Hermione were making rounds. In a few more hours, they would be at Hogwarts. He really shouldn’t feel so downhearted. He was coming home. But Neville’s death still weighed on him. The funeral was not too far behind him. He had never been that close to the boy, not like he was with Ron and Hermione, but he had still been a friend, and he had died in his place. 

 

Harry thought about the trials. After Voldemort’s fall, the Ministry had been in a mad frenzy to round up and condemn the remaining Death Eaters, eager to prove some use. Kingsley had dragged him to all the trials, saying it would be good for him. He didn’t know how watching men and women sentenced to be Kissed or imprisoned was supposed to feel therapeutic. Admittedly, he was still reeling with the grief of Remus’ and Neville’s deaths. He would have much preferred a stiff drink and a bed, but he never voiced it. Mrs. Weasley had enough to deal with and thinking about how Hermione would look at him made him more disgusted than a bottle of firewhiskey would have made him feel relieved. 

 

So he stiffened his lip and watched men fight and even more beg, ignoring the still fresh scent of graveyard soil. When called, he gave testimony against Malfoy’s incarceration (not the elder but the son). He didn’t like the Malfoy barrister, a pompous little git who obviously wanted to be there even less than Harry. It wasn’t Harry’s _job_ though, and he was less than sympathetic with the snot’s attitude, fawning over him and looking utterly confused about why he would want to help his case. Snape had rejected a barrister altogether, wasn’t even present for the sentencing, and Harry wondered if that was legal. He gave his memories anyway and argued with the woman who protested, Hermione whispering in his ear as he did so. 

 

It was a long, gross affair that he was very happy to wash his hands of later. Snape wasn’t given an Order of Merlin like Harry had petitioned, but at least he kept his assets and was released from wherever the hell they were keeping him. Malfoy Sr. was incarcerated and lost just about everything but the Manor. He wasn’t too upset about that, since it had been the Malfoy fortune that ran most of Voldemort’s campaign and the man himself who tried to have Ginny possessed and killed second year. 

 

The entire business was so damn messy. He knew Kingsley expected him to feel vindicated but he just felt tired. He’d mistakenly believed that everything would just fall into place after Voldemort died. What an idiot, he thought. And he kept having to decline memorial services and reporters and bureaucrats who wanted statues and speeches and political clout that Harry didn’t have. 

 

The carriage door opened. Harry didn’t turn, thinking Hermione and Ron had finally returned from chewing out the upper years and comforting the firsties. When it remained silent, he glanced over, and was startled to see Malfoy staring at him mulishly, stationed at the door as if to prevent flight. Harry stared back, too exhausted by that familiar glower to even consider being antagonized.

 

Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it, rolling his jaw as if extremely irritated with himself. Harry exhaustion moved to shock. Malfoy couldn’t possibly be struggling with thanks.

 

“Why did you do that?” Malfoy said eventually. Harry was caught momentarily by the burning of his eyes and couldn’t hear him. Surely, Malfoy’s eyes had never looked like that. 

 

“Do what?” 

 

Draco’s jaw twitched. “Speak up for me and my mother,” he snapped, like he thought Harry was playing coy. “What do you want?”

 

Having finally understood why he was here, Harry turned away. “I don’t want anything from you.”

 

Unsurprisingly, he didn't believe him. “The Ministry has already stripped us of our heirlooms and taken our vaults. What could you possibly want from me? I won’t beg,” he said suddenly, not giving him time to answer.

 

He didn’t turn but it was only because he already knew exactly how he would look. Draco had the pride of a wounded animal, that fierce but desperate stubbornness that showed he would rather chew off his arm than surrender. But he knew also that Malfoy would look vulnerable too, as only small, white animals could, and he didn’t want to have that image messing with the spoiled bully that he had placed in his head. 

 

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said slowly. “Go away.”

 

Draco bristled and just to be contrary plopped down on the bench. Harry checked a growl and rolled his eyes, ignoring Malfoy’s reflection in the window. There was brief moment of silence in which Harry could pretend he was alone, but of course, Malfoy had to ruin it.

 

“Why did you do it then? And I’m not saying I believe you. Because I don’t.”

 

“I don’t give a goddamn fuck what you believe,” Harry snapped, losing it. “You didn’t kill Dumbledore. You didn’t kill anybody. You didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban.”

 

“How do you know I didn’t kill anybody?” he responded waspishly.

 

Harry turned to look at him. Malfoy’s hair was ungelled, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that hadn’t healed from the trials and likely never would, not that Harry was going to be around to see. His robes were still an expensive brand available only to the elite, but they were wrinkled. Even though Harry saw all of this, he concentrated on how his face was still pointy and pale, how the curve of his lips still looked snide.

 

“Because the only shred of decency you have is in your cowardice. You were too cowardly to betray your parents, and you were too cowardly to obey them. You survived because you’re a stinking snake, and you kept your head low enough for me not to blame you for all the devastation your family wrecked on innocent people. Now leave me alone.”

 

Draco left.

 

Harry rested against the window, trying to blot the happy hills over the ruins of war.


	2. Chapter 2

Unlike Draco, Severus was very patient, but two weeks into the school year with no demands, not even a smug smirk, had his patience ready to wring Harry Potter’s neck. 

 

Harry Potter, as of late, was absorbed in thought. The idea itself caused its own personal grimace, but it was true. He was withdrawn and quiet. Severus thought at first that he was sulking. It was certainly not below the boy, but his face was wrong, as was the set of his shoulders. It lacked the sense of self-justified suffering. Severus had even caught him _reading_ one time. His jaw had ached to find some insult, lingering before the crack in the door for a good five minutes. 

 

Severus watched him closely. During study hall, he noticed that when he was bored, he would flick his fingers and distractedly light a fire over his thumb. He rubbed it out against his knuckle and flicked it on again, like a muggle lighter. He toed his shoes off in class. He was shocked to spot the duck-taped mess of them below the counter. He pushed his glasses up and constantly fiddled with them, and he liked to pull the skin loose from his chapped lips. There was no nervous habit of foot tapping or knee bobbing or hair pulling or tongue biting or any of the thousands of things that Severus observed from the pubescent idiots that roamed Hogwarts. Even Draco had a nervous habit of dangling his foot that drove Severus insane. 

 

Draco, he also noticed, spent an inordinate amount of time watching the lad. There was a soft yearning on the boy’s face that made him seem very beautiful, though Severus quickly killed thoughts of _that_. The evolution of emotion was quick and worrying. How the dissatisfaction and hatred turned to dissatisfaction and confusion to dissatisfaction and curiosity to dissatisfaction and heartache. Draco had always been such an easy person to read, one of the reasons that he fared so poorly during the war. 

 

Draco really was a lost lamb, bleating wildly for attention and terrified that he was going to be left alone. The war hadn’t snuffed out his complacency, but something Harry Potter did certainly had. And he was determined to find out what.

 

o.O.o

 

Severus was on his way to meet Draco for the second time in the same day. He was about to step off the stairs, spotting Draco at the other end of the hall when a commotion from the courtyard caught his attention. 

 

Five boys - three Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws - had converged on Pansy Parkinson. This was a common occurrence of late. People like Parkinson, who had not been directly involved with the war other than to suffer the tyranny of the Carrows, were being targeted by the students for ‘justice,’ a term Severus used figuratively in light of its similarities to mob-fashioned lynchings. None of the Slytherins were immune, not even the younger students who knew what was going on only from hearsay. 

 

Severus prepared to step forward, a snarl on his face when a shout made him falter.

 

“Oi!”

 

Severus knew that voice. Most of Europe knew that voice, though only Severus and Draco could claim the familiarity of its anger. He watched from the shadowy passage as Harry Potter stormed into the courtyard. Parkinson, never one to miss an opportunity, darted for her wand. The motion pulled the boys from their stupor enough for one of the Hufflepuffs to grab and twist her arm.

 

There was a blast that erupted without light, and everyone winced, covering their ears. The Hufflepuff, who had released Parkinson, was suddenly lifted upside down and shaken hard enough for his brain to knock against his skull. He collapsed in a heap on the ground, groaning dizzily. 

 

Harry had his wand out and looked furious. “What the hell are you doing?” 

 

“She’s a Slytherin,” one of the Hufflepuffs said. Severus identified him as Rolands, though the first name escaped him. Harry pointed his wand at his throat, and the boy raised his hands, eyes going wide.

 

“What the hell does that mean? What exactly did you think you were going to do with five on one?”

 

The students winced. The Ravenclaw was braver, a seventh year named Geoffrey Goodchild. He dwarfed Potter, hair a shade darker than Weasley’s though he had less freckles.

 

“Why are you defending her?” he asked, and Severus heard the emphasis on _you_ rather than _her_. Apparently, Potter did as well, if the flash across his face was any indication. Goodchild gave her a sneer, which Parkinson had no qualms returning even from the ground. “She tried to turn you over to You-Know-Who. Don’t you know what she did to us?” 

 

Potter moved his wand. Severus watched his grip, impressed despite himself. He handled his wand like a Death Eater rather than an auror, curling his hand beneath the handle so that it looked effortless but threatening nonetheless. Goodchild’s nose flared and he took a step back. 

 

“I don’t care,” he said bluntly, shocking everyone in the hall.

 

“She tortured us!” Rolands yelled. “She _tortured_ us. And she’s still here. She wasn’t even punished. We deserve _something_!”

 

“Blake,” Harry said in a soft, soothing voice, though he didn’t lower his wand. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

 

“This isn’t a therapy session,” Goodchild spat. 

 

Potter ignored him. “Blake, do you want to hurt her? Do you really?”

 

The boy bit his lip. “She deserves it.”

 

“Did you?” he asked softly. 

 

“ _I didn’t torture people_!” he shouted back, eyes blazing with self-righteousness.

 

“That’s right, Potter,” the Ravenclaw said. “You weren’t even here. You don’t know what it was like.”

 

Potter ignored him again, giving sympathetic eyes to the crying Hufflepuff. 

 

“You felt helpless. You felt helpless and weak, and you think that punishing her like this will make you feel in control. But it was more than just Parkinson, wasn’t it? Some of the faces you don’t even remember because you couldn’t look at them anymore. And even though you did it to protect yourself, you think it made you weak now. Because you should know. You should know who was hurting you.”

 

It was silent, not even that idiot Goodchild speaking. 

 

How could Potter look into men’s hearts like that? Was that was Potter felt, when he had men in masks bearing down on him at all sides? 

 

“You can’t take revenge on the Slytherins,” Potter continued in that same reasonable, soft voice. “They had to, Blake. Or they would have been on the floor beside you. And their family might be as well. It’s not easy torturing people.” He shook his head. “She’s just spoiled, Blake. Not even she wanted to. This won’t make it hurt any less and it won’t make you feel in control. Because the faces you do remember every time, the ones that laughed and told them want to do and which spells to use, are already dead. Do you understand? They’re dead, Blake. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

The younger students looked confused, glancing back and forth between Potter and Parkinson, except for Rolands. He was a sixth year repeating fifth year like the rest of them. Severus had tried to protect the students, had kept the worst from them, but they were still children who understand pain was pain, even if they didn’t lose limbs or spent the rest of their lives blind. 

 

Rolands’ eyes were fastened on Potter, a clear, crystal blue that Severus suddenly realized greatly resembled Dumbledore’s. He was still struggling with great emotion, wand limp in his hand. Potter watched him and only him, though Severus saw how his hand still framed his wand in an easy, lightning grip. 

 

Goodchild broke the spell. “Pretty words, Potter. What are you? Why are you saving them now? You’re supposed to be on our side.”

 

“I’m not your parent,” Potter snapped, turning quicksilver eyes to him.

 

Rolands lowered his head, shivering slightly. 

 

“I didn’t chose to be your savior, and just because I killed the bastard doesn’t mean I’m going to be your bloody spokesman. I don’t _pick sides_ ,” he sneered, gazing for a moment at the floor, as if the phrase itself rather than the speaker upset him. 

 

Goodchild flushed an ugly red. He glanced down quickly at Parkinson, but Potter made a subtle gesture with his wrist and took his gaze again. 

 

“Let’s go,” Goodchild barked

 

He went to grab Rolands arm, and Potter growled, raising his wand. 

 

“Let him go.”

 

“You can’t just do that!”

 

“Do what?” Potter challenged. “Tell you to release a student.”

 

“Blake, come on.”

 

The boy looked up at Potter hesitantly. 

 

“I won’t stop you if you go with them,” Potter said calmly, eyes on Goodchild. His gaze fell a moment later, after the statement, resting with heavy acceptance on the child. “But I would like you to come with me.”

 

There it was, lain out simply. Potter had his full attention on him, and this time he did not look away, waiting for his decision. 

 

Goodchild tugged on his arm. Potter nodded as if that had been an answer. 

 

“Come to me if you have any questions, Blake. About anything. I’ll listen to you.”

 

Goodchild scoffed, tugging the entourage down the hall.

 

“Mr. Potter?” one of the Hufflepuffs said hesitantly, halfway following Goodchild.

 

“I’m eighteen, Alfons. Bloody hell,” he said without much reproach. “Just call me Harry.”

 

He turned and looked at where Goodchild was disappearing. “Do you really think…” He glanced at Parkinson, who realized she was still sprawled ungracefully on the ground and snarled.

 

The boy backed away. 

 

Potter didn’t deign the girl with a glance, though his jaw hardened. “They aren’t nice, and I don’t want you to try to befriend them, but yes. With very few exceptions, they aren’t murderers, and they were just trying to survive. The same as you.” He crudely jerked his chin where the Ravenclaw had disappeared. “Don’t let older students rile you. They didn’t have any more control over the situation than you did.”

 

When the boy looked at Parkinson, who was standing, Severus saw true fear in his eyes. He only knew some of the details about what the Carrows had made his students do, but he hadn’t expected a look like that on a thirteen year old, especially after the war ended and the Light won.

 

“Alfons,” Potter called, breaking the boy’s stare. “You’re safe now. And if you feel like you aren’t, come to me. Not pricks like Goodchild.”

 

He ran off. Potter ran a hand through his hair, making the large cowlick at the back of his scalp stand even more to attention. Parkinson had gathered her wand and other than ruffled and bruised, look no worse for wear. She observed Potter through narrow eyes, shoulders hunched. The emotions that Potter displayed for her were much more complicated than the ones he’d given Rolands or Goodchild. 

 

“Do you expect a thank you?” she sneered.

 

“No.”

 

They spent another minute in cold silence, evaluating each other. 

 

“What?” the girl eventually snapped, unable to turn her back on him.

 

There was a wild, confined look on her face that Severus was used to seeing on his Slytherins now. She didn’t try to straighten her hair or pretend that she wasn’t planning escape routes. The sympathy that Potter extended to Rolands would be completely unwelcome. Severus didn’t know if he understood that or didn’t care, but he backed away and kept his trap shut. Parkinson watched him suspiciously, not that Severus could blame her. He’d done the same after Potter had interfered with his trial, waiting for the moment when he’d betray him or demand payment for gratitude that Severus did not feel. 

 

“I tried to turn you over to the Dark Lord,” she said viciously at his back.

 

Idiot, Severus hissed to himself.

 

Potter stopped and turned around. 

 

“I don’t regret it,” she said when he didn’t answer. 

 

“I know that,” he said impatiently. It was silent again, and he seemed to realize that Parkinson wanted a reaction. “I’ve never expected anything more of you.”

 

“Don’t you want revenge?”

 

“For what?” he said with a small, irritated smile. “We aren’t friends. You wanted to save your skin. I never expected more of you,” he said again. “So it’s not like you betrayed me. I don’t get what you want from me, unless you want me to say that you hurt me.” He glared in. “In that case, you’re deluded.”

 

Parkinson didn’t gape but Severus saw the way her teeth shut against her lips. 

 

“You don’t care that I wanted you dead.”

 

Potter gave her an incredulous look. “Half the people I know, and don’t know, want me dead. The other half wants me to stand still and be a fucking idol. Sorry but I’m afraid the second half pisses me off more. You actually try to kill me and I’ll start to care.”

 

Pansy backed away. Potter looked completely bewildered by the reaction but didn’t comment, instead turning away and continuing down the hall.

 

“Why did you help me?” she whispered.

 

“Why does it matter?” he said without stopping.

 

“Because it doesn’t make any bloody sense,” she whispered, though this time it was too soft for Potter to hear.

 

Severus watched her stiffen and turn in the opposite direction. He resolved to tell his Slytherins to buddy-up when they left the dorms. He looked up and was startled to realize that Draco wasn’t on the step anymore. He cursed, knowing which way he had gone.

 

He followed after Potter, strides long and swift. The boy was the Chosen Savior, England’s darling. No matter any court convictions, they would not survive antagonizing him.

 

He caught up to see Potter spin around and direct his wand towards Draco’s face. Severus made a soft oath and flicked out his wand. Potter frowned and surprisingly lowered his arm when Draco continued to stare at him dumbly, hands raised. 

 

“What is it, Malfoy?”

 

Draco swallowed then braced yourself. “I wanted to thank you.”

 

“You what?” he sputtered, eyes almost popping out of his skull.

 

Severus enjoyed that reaction for a moment, much more pleasing that the soft sympathizing look he wore when he tried to be reasonable and soothing. 

 

“Thank you,” Draco repeated. “For Pansy.”

 

Potter eventually blinked and glared. “Why didn’t you help her?” he rounded.

 

“You got there first.” 

 

Potter shook his head, nursing what looked like a massive headache. “I’m going barmy.”

 

“It’s barmy for me to thank you for helping a friend?”

 

He opened his mouth and changed his mind again, making Severus begin to wonder if, in the year foraging for horocruxes and attending trials, he’d actually learned to control his tongue. 

 

“I thought Slytherins had a rule never to use expressions of gratitude.”

 

“I’ve decided it won’t hurt me to thank you.”

 

Potter gave him a long, accessing look that looked a shade bit humored. “Don’t thank me, Malfoy.” His eyes went hard. “I didn’t enjoy defending her.”

 

Draco nodded contritely, which seemed to confuse Potter even more. “Isn’t that a better reason to thank you then?” 

 

He stared at him, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Interestingly, his face softened though. He looked no less suspicious, but it was there. 

 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he stammered. 

 

Draco took a deep breath. “Thank you for speaking at my trial too. And for my mother.”

 

Potter looked even more unsettled now, but his gaze didn’t leave Draco’s face.

 

“Thank you for keeping quiet at the manor.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened. He controlled his expression a moment later but still had to look away.

 

“You don’t mean that. I did that because I was a coward, and you know it.”

 

Potter didn’t deny it, but something entered his face, like respect among the confusion. He gave a small shrug but his eyes were bright.

 

“I shouldn’t assume that I know what goes on in your head,” he said lightly. He coughed, suddenly awkward. “For the trial… I don’t expect anything from you. I just spoke the truth. But… you’re welcome, Malfoy. Since you said thanks.”

 

He looked strangely vulnerable, Severus thought. Much more comfortable defending his enemies that accepting gratitude from them. Severus had never known that about him. It was such an odd thing to have anyway. 

 

Severus still didn’t think that Harry was a wonderful boy savior, Dumbledore’s little hero. He was still arrogant and believed in a justice that relied entirely on his own skewed system of morals, but it was strange that he would defend the people he hated. Not as strange though as his recognition that his side was not the only victims of the war. Severus had never expected that. His father certainly had never possessed such depth, but his mother too had been merciless and unforgiving when she’d been wronged. She had sympathy for the forgotten child as Spinner’s End but not for the man-child that spurned her in a fit of humiliation. 

 

That was an uncomfortable thought. He’d praised Lily, for years and years and years. It had been so long since he’d reviewed her faults. (And even now he was hesitant to say there were any.) Severus had still been a child when he had last seen her. After so long, his love for her remained pure, the only thing he held onto that couldn’t be sullied. He knew with a knowledge marked by age that he’d been in love with her because she was kind and beautiful, that his feelings leaned more towards obsession than passion because that was what he needed to survive. 

 

Now though, he could look at her son and see all the things she couldn’t be. Compassionate only when it was convenient and fiercer in her loyalties than her convictions. 

 

Severus didn’t suddenly hate Harry Potter any less. He was still insufferable and self-righteous and foolhardy, though he still didn’t know why the last bothered him so much more than the first two.

 

Severus left the hall, his mind awhirl with propositions that he hadn’t considered since a green-eyed girl had once convinced that not all the world was made of sin.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco slowly integrated himself into Harry Potter’s life. He knew that the adjustments had to be minimal, and the first step he took was apologizing in all sincerity to Hermione Granger, who gawked at him as if he gone completely barmy. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult, especially after he realized that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

He knew better than to try to apologize to Weasley. The only good that would do him was a black eye. Granger hadn’t really accepted his apology either, but at least he wasn’t bleeding.

The next step was just being more effable in general, which didn’t exactly turn out as well as he wanted. Mostly, it just made him seem suspicious. Harry actually looked frightened when he smiled at him, which would have been amusing if it wasn’t so frustrating. The only headway he made was helping Ginny Weasley with her potion’s assignment. He tossed a casual glance over her shoulder in the library and remembered the chapter. She was having trouble understanding why the beetle wings would counteract the moltengloss roots, an admittedly confusing conundrum if one didn’t understand the magical properties of the ingredients.

Ginny and the small gaggle of friends she carted around her had stared at him much the same way Granger had stared at him when he apologized. He couldn’t help smiling, impressed with how much he could unnerve people just by being nice. Screw doing this for Harry. This was fun all on its own.

o.O.o

“You’ve got do something! Curse him, talk to him, kill him. I don’t care. Just do something!” Ron said, pacing the common room.

“I heard you the first time, Ron,” Harry grumbled, only slightly less troubled by Malfoy’s new attitude than Ron.

“It’s bloody creepy!”

Harry had to agree. Malfoy smiling at you was just not something you wanted to happen. It had to be some sort of ill omen.

“He helped me with my homework in the library,” Ginny said. “I mean, he wasn’t even jerking me around. He actually gave me the right answer.”

“Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?” Hermione said cautiously from the fireplace.

“Over-reacting!” Ron shouted, flailing his arms. “This has to be some type of plot. Do you think maybe he’s cursed?”

Ginny shook her head. “I checked.”

“Maybe someone slipped him a cheering potion,” Pavarti, who had drawn herself into the conversation, said.

“Malfoy knows potions like the back of his hand,” Hermione said. “There’s no way he’d let himself be poisoned.”

“Maybe he’s just being nice.”

The voice came from Padma, who had joined her sister on the couch, leaning over the back so that twin faces surveyed the lot of them.

“Are you daft?” Ron suddenly hissed in a stage whisper, as if Malfoy was listening at the portrait.

“Well,” she said with a small irritated pout. “It’s not like he has to impress his father anymore, and he doesn’t have a bunch of Death Eater trainees breathing down his neck.”

“Need I remind you he was one of those Death Eater trainees?” Ron said.

Padma rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “I heard that his mother has gone insane, you know. They can’t even keep the manor anymore. The rest of his house is trying to stay as far away from him as possible. He’s practically has a bull’s eye mark on his back now. He has nothing.”

“A bull’s eye?” Harry said, brows creased.

Padma made an expression as if she had just said something she wasn’t supposed to.

Pavarti sighed elegantly. “A bunch of students don’t think Slytherin should be a house anymore.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry said the same moment Hermione said, “And the teachers condone this?”

Pavarti shrugged. “I don’t think Slytherin should be a house anymore but moving them into the other houses is just stupid too.”

“Who would want them?” Padma added.

The group went quiet.

“Are they really thinking about abolishing the house?” Ginny said eventually.

“They wouldn’t,” Hermione said.

Suddenly, Ron snorted. “We’d be better without the lot of them.”

“Ron!” Hermione started, but Harry tuned them out.

He remembered well that the Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin. He still thought he had made the right decision, but would he really want the choice to be taken away entirely? And even if he would have chosen Slytherin so long ago, that didn’t mean he would have turned out evil. Not really.

Still, he doubted Snape would allow it. If there was one thing he couldn’t fault Snape, he was a prideful bastard and a good head of house. Half of him still thought he was a slimy git who should retire, but the other half thought the man deserved an Order of Merlin.

He excused himself from the conversation, garnering a “good night” only from the Patil twins and Ginny because Hermione and Ron were still bickering. He still didn’t know what he was going to do about Malfoy, but apparently it was his responsibility. He didn’t think he could stomach another meal with Draco across from him, grinning like a cat looking at a canary.

o.O.o

Draco was washing his hands in the loo when Potter came barreling through the door as if hellhounds were on his trail. He leaned up against the door, not even noticing him as he strained to hear through the wood. Draco watched bemused as he darted into a stall, pulled the door closed, and stood on the lid.

A moment later, Colin Creevey opened the door, his cherubic expression having survived the trauma of a losing a brother. His camera was hanging around his neck, cradled in eager hands as he searched the restroom. His eyes landed on Draco, and he tensed as if he had spotted a hungry dragon.

“M-malfoy?”

“Yes?” he said courteously.

He looked around nervously, fondling the camera. “Did… you happen see H-harry come in?” His voice had gotten so quiet at the end that Draco had to guess what he said.

He made a show of looking around, tossing his towel in the bin. “No.”

He made a small sound and darted out. Draco could help the small sadistic chuckle that escaped him. Harry opened the stall, still squatting on the toilet as he checked the room. His gaze fell on Draco suspiciously.

“That was… nice.”

Draco smiled. “No problem.”

He made no move to leave, which seemed to put Harry even more on his guard. He emerged from the stall, sure to keep his front to him. A measure of hurt mixed with the glee of that realization, and he took a deep breath.

“Look, I know I was a major prat-”

“Arsehole,” Harry interrupted.

“Arsehole,” he accepted graciously, “but I want you to know that I don’t plan to be like that anymore.”

“Really,” he said, crossing his arms.

Draco regarded him with a smug smile. “Would you like an oath?”

Harry stared at him, startled. He tested Draco’s eyes a moment, and the blond was sure to stare back. He was fairly sure vague bonds like “I will not be a prat” didn’t really work, but he didn’t mind giving the insurance anyway.

“No,” Harry said. “That’s not necessary.”

Draco leaned against the sink, watching his uncertainty with a smug type of relish.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you acting this way?”

Because it had gotten Harry to notice him.

“Because being a prick doesn’t serve any purpose anymore. It’s much more fun to rattle you like this.”

“So this is for your amusement?” Harry said angrily, though the tension in his shoulders loosened.

Draco frowned. “No,” he said quickly. He straightened, suddenly very serious. “I don’t have to be cruel all the time, Potter.” He almost stumbled over his name, so tempted to call him Harry. “I’m really not. And I… I don’t like knowing that you only think of me as a coward.”

Harry gaped at him. Draco hadn’t planned to be that honest. Now that he said it, he watched Harry’s reaction closely.

“You… I… What? Why?”

Draco couldn’t help it. He snorted.

Harry’s gaze darkened. “Are you laughing at me?”

He shook his head. “No, but your expression was rather…” he trailing off, unable to find a word, though Harry seemed to understand.

“So is this,” he said gesturing the space of the bathroom, though Draco took it to mean his change, “is because you don’t want me to think you’re a coward or because you don’t want to think of yourself as a coward?”

Draco frowned, stunned. He wasn’t prepared to be questioned like that. “I… I don’t know. Maybe both, I guess.”

He made a small sound that could have been a laugh or a whimper. No one had ever asked him something like that before. Harry gave him an indecipherable look, and Draco was too raw and exposed to respond. He stared back, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden like right after he had been stripped down and called a coward. Or after he had taken the Dark Mark. Or when he had stood for the Wizengamot and thought he was going to go to Azkaban. Harry’s sense of justice and honor had the power to do that.

“I’m not forgiving you, Malfoy,” Harry said in a low tone that was neither antagonistic nor smug.

“But you’ll give me a chance?” Draco said hopefully, unashamed of how childish his voice seemed.

Harry stared at him unblinking, and Draco tried to imagine what that gaze would feel like full of admiration and fondness.

“We’ll see.”


	4. Chapter 4

Severus noticed that there was a spring in Draco’s step recently. When asked, he responded cryptically that he had “talked to Harry.”

Harry.

When the devil had he started calling Potter Harry?

Severus noticed that _Harry_ was staring at Draco during dinner, something that filled the blond with delight, which Potter would then notice and appear even more disconcerted. Severus was getting tired of this. Draco was yielding nothing, so he decided to talk to Potter instead.

He had to admit that Potter’s grades had improved in the course of the year, though he was technically only privy to his Potions grades. This new bout of maturity seemed to have allowed him to balance his schedule. What’s more, with the new Slytherin tactic on keeping low, he no longer had to guard his cauldron at all times, which led to less hostilities and less accidents that bound him to detention.

Potter, admittedly, had a much neater hold on his temper this year too. Severus had ceased baiting him, wary of his political status, but that didn’t mean he wasn't watching him for his usual display of disrespect and temper. So, he now had to properly call on him to wait after class, which felt like biting in a lemon. Standing before him, Potter’s stance wasn’t nearly as hostile as it once was, which either meant his control had reached new bounds or Potter had finally, somehow managed to garner some respect for him. Severus was fairly sure it was the former.

He had his bag thrown over his shoulder, but he sat at one of the front desks as if he didn’t want to stand up for too long, which Severus found amusing. He folded his hands and decided that his old intimidation tactics weren’t going to work anymore.

“Have you noticed any sort of change in my godson recently?”

Harry blinked, caught off by his abruptness (and probably such a personal reference to Draco as well). “Other than the fact that he’s being rather decent, sir?”

He raised his brow. He hadn’t realized his ambivalence had extended that far.

“And do you know the reason for this change, Mr. Potter?”

The boy – no, young man – was staring at him now with a suspicion that he had something that Severus wanted. He hadn’t known he was that astute either or willing to barter.

“I’m sure Malfoy could tell you the reasons better than I could.”

“I’m sure he could as well, but I think I’d like to hear what you think.”

“What makes you think Malfoy would talk to me?”

Severus found himself rather stuck, having underestimated him and revealed his hand too soon. He had no comment to refute that and was forced to yield. He wasn’t sure that Potter understood the game he had initiated, but he was looking to Severus as if it was his turn and the man was frustrated to reveal himself at a loss.

He picked up a paper and his quill, dipping it in red ink. “That will be all then, Mr. Potter.”

Harry rose, surprised that that had been it. He had kept out of trouble for the first part of the year, and he was sure Snape had formulated some secret incident to get him expelled. But the man was just worried about his godson, who it appeared had told him nothing of his sudden conscience. Which was interesting. He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but he had no doubt that it was indeed interesting.

o.O.o

_Draco_ , because the git always bristled and refused to respond when he called him Malfoy, was actually not that bad. Harry had been dubious, more or less convinced that this wasn’t some ridiculous prank. He was still wary by habit, but the boy actually made fond company. Sure, his humor was a tad more sadistic than Harry’s, and he had in no way lessened his conceit, but his opinions, loud and mostly unwanted, were… honest to a certain extent. He had no ounce of modesty and was quick to think someone was making a joke of him, which had done more harm than good in his still raw associations with Ron. Harry more often had difficulty taking him seriously.

Before, he had thought Malfoy just a spoiled bully, which he still was, but more and more often, Harry was comparing him to a small child instead. Malfoy’s maturity was seen only in rare bouts, like his proficiency at potions, which bested even Hermione. He was still a self-absorbed prat, but Harry noted that he did listen, which was more than he could say of Ron, who had to be told something at least six times before it made it through his skull.

At first, the license that Draco took with them was minimal. A small smile. A wave here and there. Maybe an added comment in class. When they had been paired together in Transfiguration for an assignment, he had eagerly moved his things to Harry’s desk before Harry had the time to do more than grumble. It was a weeklong assignment, requiring out of class preparation, and Draco was very considerate in allowing him to work around his quidditch schedule. Again, Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of a small child. Children had always been a weakness of his, something Malfoy might or might not have known, though he doubted he was acting that way on purpose.

Eventually, he dared to invite him to the Gryffindor common room to study. They had a potion test coming up, and Harry admitted he could use the help. Surprisingly, Draco was much easier to listen to than Hermione. Maybe it wasn’t that surprising though, as Hermione had a penchant for rambling about obscure things that he weren’t entirely sure pertained to the topic.

Harry had the foreknowledge to announce Draco’s visit beforehand. Many of the anti-Slytherin supporters were in Gryffindor, but Harry had already bluntly told the house that he wouldn’t tolerate that type of prejudice around him. A few people, Seamus included, stormed out of the room, unwilling to brace another of Harry’s rows. Ron grumbled and immersed himself in a chess game against himself.

It was weird having Draco in Gryffindor Tower but not as weird as he expected. Soon, the tension was forgotten as they both became immersed in their potion texts. About an hour and a half into it, Harry’s neck started cramping, and he declared a minor break.

“I didn’t realize you were such a ponce,” Draco threw at him.

Harry started to stiffen, his first response to anger because he was sure he had worked harder in a day on Privet Drive than Malfoy had worked in his life, but he stopped. Hermione and Ron carefully skirted the issue of Harry’s summer life, so he hesitated to respond, regarding Draco narrowly.

The blond gave him a self-satisfied grin, which shocked Harry for a moment because usually people looked nervous when he looked at them like that. People were still hung over his defeat of Voldemort, believing he had some wild, ancient power that could erupt any moment when he got angry. Which was bullocks. Harry’s magic was just as average as the next bloke’s.

What was incredibly shocking was that Draco was _teasing_ him. Only Sirius had ever teased him. Well, in a manner that wasn’t vicious, which he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t the case here.

“Says the boy who’s hardly worked a day in his life,” he drawled, smiling.

Draco made a show of being affronted. “I work.”

“On what? Your hair doesn’t count.”

Draco frowned sullenly. “Potions count as work.”

“I’m sure stirring and chopping takes up a lot of effort. It must be such a strain.”

Draco gave an indignant huff that seemed to say he didn’t think Harry was worth responding to anymore and stood up. Harry struggled to keep his grin in check, mostly because Draco’s pride was beyond ridiculous. He reclined back in the seat, rolling his neck. Anyone beyond the range of the couch was glaring at the Slytherin as if he might try to steal something, so he couldn’t really wander about. He ventured the area around Ron, who was busily arranging his chess troops. Focused, he didn’t notice Draco peering over his shoulder, thankfully at a respectable distance, until he spoke.

“You play?”

Ron jumped, making a wild corkscrew movement as he twisted in his chair. Hermione snorted, then hid her face in her book.

“What the bloody hell?” the redhead yelled.

Draco ignored the screech, his eyes on the board. “I didn’t know you played. Are you good?”

Harry watched Ron struggle to be insulted, but the desire to boast outweighed his need to bicker.

“Yeah. A bit.”

Draco smirked. “Dare a game?”

Ron’s eyes brightened maliciously. His grin answered the challenge. No one in Gryffindor could beat him at chess. It was one of the few things he prided himself in. There was no way he would pass up a chance to completely humiliate Malfoy.

“You think you’re up for it,” he sneered back.

Harry and Hermione both were much too amused by this new dimension of the two to interfere in what could possibly be a fatal competition. Malfoy seated himself across from him, making a show of crossing his legs.

“You first then?”

o.O.o

“I swear I almost had him! That little git plays dirty! I just know it!”

“How can you play dirty in chess?” Ginny asked.

Ron ignored her, continuing his rant at the top of the stairs. “I’ll get his scrawny arse! There’s no way he can beat me again! I’m going to wipe that bloody grin right off his bloody face!”

Harry smiled. The game had been interesting. He had suspected the Draco knew how to play just from the way he challenged Ron, but he hadn’t expected the two to be so evenly matched. They had gotten no more studying done as the two had sat across from each other for close to three hours, concentrating solely on the board. Ron had grudgingly admitted that Malfoy was a fair hand, and though he was still raving about the loss, Harry could see the hint of admiration in his gaze. Harry didn’t know if he realized that he had invited Draco back to the common room for another game. The swearing and finger pointing hadn’t exactly been amicable, but another rendezvous had certainly been the point.

Harry was rather impressed that Draco hadn’t made a big deal of the win. Of course, there was a smug, bloated air about him when he declared checkmate and reclined back in his seat like the king of the world, but he openly admitted that Ron was extremely talented, turning the compliment into self-praise at the same time. He looked eager to play again.

Having Draco around was turning into quite an entertaining affair.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco collapsed against the wall, sure that he was finally safe. They wouldn’t follow him so deeply into the dungeons even if they hadn’t bored and scattered long ago. Still, he had no desire to sprawl in the middle of the hall, wounded or not. Panting and holding his side, he braced on wobbly legs and hauled himself further into the recess of the darkness.

 

Light was spilling from around a corner, gradually growing stronger. He tensed, searching for places to hide, but the dungeons were not feast to paintings, armored knights, or magic doorways like the bright alcoves of the rest of the castle. Here, there was only blunt stone. 

 

He was not in the good graces of his house. He shuffled, fearing he was making far too much noise, and propped his shoulders against the wall. Utterly vulnerable and pathetic, he aimed his wand and shivered.

 

“Draco?” Severus Snape called, a dark, beaten robe thrown over his nightshirt and trousers. Draco’s blond hair, even matted with sweat, was probably as brilliant as a beacon. “What are you doing so late?”

 

Draco expelled his breath, his hand shaking as he lowered his wand. 

 

“I was in the library, sir,” he lied.

 

He was sure it would be all over the school come morning, but he couldn’t face Severus and tell him he’d been in the Gryffindor common room, playing chess with Ron bloody Weasley. He hadn’t expected to be so evenly matched against the Weasel, and he hadn’t wanted to lose. He was foolish. He knew it was dangerous to walk about after hours, especially since his position as Prefect had been renounced. 

 

Severus appraised him beneath the wandlight, taking in his drawn face and the way his hand clutched his side. 

 

“Come.”

 

Draco followed him to his personal chambers, carefully arranging his feet on the stairway so as not to plow into the man’s back. Severus’ chambers were at the bottom of the stairs, strategically before the Slytherin dormitory so as to monitor passersby. The wooden door was reminiscent of the thick, ancient oaks that barred entrance to prison cells. The antechamber served as a more private office than the one behind his classroom, dog-eared novellas and torn journals organized lovingly on the shelves while cabinets stored the more sensitive and expensive of his potion stock. It was a modest room, Spartan but filled with the life of well use. 

 

Draco sat gingerly on a second-hand sofa, not meeting his godfather’s gaze. Severus pulled the chair from behind his desk and leveled a patient but demanding stare. 

 

Draco squirmed. “It’s a bludger hex. You know I’m bad with bruises.”

 

Indeed, Draco had a nifty hand at healing cuts and abrasions. Some of his first accidental magic had been repairing his skinned knee. But bruises had always been a weak point, and no matter how he studied and practiced, he could never get the hand of healing them. 

 

With precise cutting spells, Severus removed Draco’s shirt. All of his left flank was purple, shifting in angry shades and crawling into yellows. Testing the area revealed that the bones were not broken, but the area was certainly swollen. Draco suffered the inspection with his head bowed, chastised by Severus’ silence. 

 

He summoned a bruise salve from his stores. The paste was oily and cold on the inflamed flesh. Draco hissed, his fingers digging into his shoulder. Severus felt the manicured nails make perfect crescent indents through his robe and shirt. 

 

“Who was it?” he asked as Draco bore the salve. 

 

“I didn’t see,” he breathed out, making small whines in the back of his throat like a mongrel. 

 

“How were you not aware of the danger of roaming the halls alone and at night?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered.

 

After a moment in which Severus said nothing else, Draco relaxed enough to rest his head on Severus’ shoulder. While his father had always been political and his mother social, Severus had been the one to watch after him when he was sick with summer colds. He was his most constant sitter, and the only person to ever want nothing more from him than intelligence and honesty. Severus was always warm, his natural temperature running a few degrees higher than the norm, though his hands were often cold. 

 

His shoulder was a familiar presence, almost as comforting as his bed in the manor. The one he could no longer return to, he thought. Severus would not tolerate crying, but he allowed certain touches. Draco thanked Merlin, Mordred and Morgana that this was one of the times Severus seemed inclined to indulge him. He breathed in the scent of clary sage and lavender, which on anyone else he would have considered feminine. It was lined with smoke, the product of years of his most common potion ingredients. Severus never bought new cloaks.

 

It might have been the poultice, but his muscles loosened. He preferred though to think that it was this scent and the hard warmth of that familiar shoulder. Severus did not move, but Draco was used to that odd, stationary comfort. Severus was most comfortable with handling emotions that did not require his participation. So rare were the moments that Severus offered his shoulder that Draco did not mind that absence of a hand on his back like he would have anyone else. 

 

When at last Draco started to consider risking his hand around Severus’ neck, the man spoke, making him jump.

 

“Your late night escapade wouldn’t have anything to do with Potter, would it?”

 

His side was now pleasantly numb, but he still tensed. He met Severus’ eyes and looked quickly away. He’d always liked the darkness of Severus’ eyes, and he’d stare into them for inappropriate amounts of time before Severus informed him of the vice. He consoled himself when he realized that it wasn’t just Severus’ eyes but dark eyes in general that he found attractive, but even with his beaus’, he had to consciously keep track of his gawking. 

 

Severus grabbed his jaw. Draco resisted the pull just on instinct, but Severus had strong, cruel fingers and forced him to look at him.

 

“What are you hiding, Draco?”

 

Feeling very much the rabbit, Draco tried and failed not to be slightly scared. It wasn’t that he feared Severus would strike him. In eighteen years, when Severus had every reason to, he’d never laid a hand or wand on him. But Draco never forgot that Severus was formidable, a trait that he displayed in every motion, expression, and word. He didn’t forget either that Severus had the power to force answers from his mind as easily as reaching into a bag. 

 

Even his questions sounded like demands. Draco believed that Severus would release him if he asked, but he didn’t. Because it was the perfect excuse for staring into the blackness of his eyes, wild in a face as pale as new yarrow. Severus’ fingers bruised him, daring him to turn away, but it had always been like that. Draco was old enough to understand it and relax when the child-him would have simply been terrified. 

 

“I’m not hiding anything.”

 

The denial made Severus angry. Draco gave him an impatient glare and hastened to continue before Severus responded.

 

“I mean it. It’s not that I’m hiding.”

 

Severus dropped his hand. He obviously expected him to explain though. Draco knew that his mind wandered. Severus had spent years trying to teach him to focus, but Draco remained consciously capricious, and it took him a few seconds to transition between his thoughts about Severus to Harry. 

 

Instantly, he felt uncomfortable. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him that he’d been admiring one man while seeking another, but Harry was different. His attentions could not be half-hearted or schemed, and it made him nervous, even inside the privacy of his own mind.

 

But it was Severus, his oldest and most trustworthy confidante, and he could only feel somewhat guilty for an admiration that had clung to him for years. 

 

“Draco,” Severus snapped.

 

Draco sighed. “I like him.” 

 

Severus’ scowl spoke for itself, making Draco press down a grin. It was silent as Severus disgustedly processed this information, staring at Draco the whole time as if he’d confessed an affair with a frog. He resisted the urge to defend his choice, if only because he didn’t want to give Severus the opening.

 

“I trust you haven’t revealed these feelings,” he revealed at last.

 

Draco squirmed. Severus’ breathed in quickly, the air seeming to go straight to his eyes.

 

“You haven’t.”

 

Draco shook his head. “But… I’m going to.”

 

“Draco,” Severus said in a long-suffering tone, “have you completely taken leave of your senses?” The concern for his mental health seemed very genuine and stung a little, though he tried not to show it.

 

“You can hardly tolerate each other,” he continued, “and I doubt he would so easily forget who you are.”

 

“He hasn’t,” Draco said bitterly. “But… I mean… I’m more than that. And he knows it.”

 

He wasn’t so sure on that account, but Severus didn’t jump on the weakness so he assumed he hid it.

 

“Do you even know if he is attracted to you?”

 

Draco winced. “I think so.”

 

Severus gaped at him until a flush ran up Draco’s neck.

 

“It will never work out.”

 

The sting elevated to a slap, and he was quick to jump up. “You don’t know that!”

 

“I don’t?” he said with mordant humor. “You both are so incompatible it makes me want to laugh.”

 

Draco flinched, not sure where his reactions where coming from and too injured to care. “You don’t mean that… You don’t even know him!”

 

“You think you do?” Severus stared at him with those bold intense irises, and Draco did not need to see the sneer on his mouth to feel how they burned. “You think the great Harry Potter will share anything with you? We are so far below his notice, he’d hardly even grace you with pity. Why would he even bother with people like us? You think you’ve won his favor by acting like a besotted fool? He’s just laughing at you.”

 

“He’s not like that,” Draco said, knowing he was losing the argument and feeling like he was beating against an ocean.

 

“Of course he is,” Severus snarled caustically. “Just like every other bloke and bint you’ve charmed into your trousers. You’d just be an _adventure_ for him.”

 

The one word was spoken with enough loathing to leave Draco in tears. Having his doubt brought to reality was so much more painful than he’d imagined.

 

“Fine,” he snapped, pretending he wasn’t on the verge of bawling. “That’s just fine then. I’ll just make him love me.”

 

For a second, Severus’ jaw dropped. Then, he erupted into fury. “He’s not a game, Draco! Do you realize what that boy could do to us?”

 

“I’m not scared.”

 

“Well you should be, you little brat! You can’t play with him!”

 

“Is that what this is about?” Draco said breathlessly. “Severus, I swear. I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.”

 

Severus gave a single mad bark of laughter, making Draco cringe. “You, the school whore?”

 

Draco flushed and scowled back.

 

“At least I don’t have to pay for my trysts.”

 

“Yes, brilliant, Draco!” Severus snapped. “Let’s turn this into another game of insults! Let’s add your brilliant wit! Haven’t you grown up at all, you stupid boy?”

 

“You’re the one yelling at me!”

 

“Yes,” he snarled, slamming his hand down on the desk. “Because you continue to act like a rutting fool.”

 

They stared at each, the room full of hurt.

 

“I spent so much effort trying to keep you safe,” Severus said. “And you,” he broke off to laugh. “You want to fuck Harry Potter.”

 

“I told you it’s not like that,” he said quietly.

 

“And I should believe you?” Severus said, glaring at him. 

 

Even Draco knew it would be silly to tell him that he’d never felt this way before.

 

“You… bloody child,” Severus whispered, hanging his head. 

 

“I’m not playing with him,” Draco said. “I swear it.”

 

“I suppose you think you’re in love,” Severus chuckled, and Draco gasped at the amount of cruelty he’d put in the statement. 

 

“How long do you suppose those feelings will last? Another week? A month?”

 

“No,” he said weakly. 

 

Severus looked up at him, and for once, Draco found nothing beautiful in the sight of his eyes. “Don’t they always?”

 

Draco slapped him. For a moment, they were both too stunned to move. Then, Draco fled, going fast enough that he failed to close the door. 

 

It was silent and the air seemed to shiver and ache. Severus collapsed in his chair, cradling his head in his hand. He’d said more than he meant to, revealed more than Draco would ever be able to grasp. As much as he loved him, Draco was dense. He had the intelligence for potion making but little in the art of language. He’d mistakenly believed that Severus’ intent had been to lead him away from danger. Certainly, that had been part of it, but he’d lost his head tonight. If he hadn’t, he was sure he could have convinced Draco that Potter was using him, that the crimes Draco had committed could never be understood or forgiven by that boy. He was sure, but instead, he’d lost his head and blown it all.

 

He stood and summoned a decanter of brandy from the lowest drawer of his desk, pouring the lukewarm liquid into a transfigured glass. He wanted to think that this… crush on Potter was just that, a crush. Merlin, the boy was a slag. It shouldn’t have been hard to convince himself that Draco was just a self-destructive tool, that the infatuation was his play with a knife’s edge or a clumsy man’s bid for pride. Seducing The Boy Who Lived, Severus knew many who would have liked to try.

 

He knocked back the bourbon, grimacing and baring his teeth after it reached his palate. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to ignore each other. They were supposed to drift apart, go on into different worlds, different lives and met sometime when their children shared the Hogwarts Express. None of them were supposed to realize that they existed as anything other than foils. 

 

Severus knocked the shot glass against his desk. The sound it made was empty and ordinary, but he listened to it long after it had stopped.

 

He had always thought that watching his godson flirt through skirts and trousers was the worst it could possibly be, but he was wrong. Watching him fall in love was much worse.

 

o.O.o

 

Something was bothering Draco. Harry watched him from across the Hall, and it was rather easy to see that he was upset. Though he didn’t talk to his housemates nearly as much as before, he always made some attempt to remain part of the group. But today he was sitting by himself, making no pretense of feigning hunger, and Harry wondered if someone had died. 

 

Behind him, he could hear Mayor and Finch-Fletchley plotting some prank to upend his plate. He turned around just as Mayor made to point his wand and grabbed the end of it.

 

“Save it.”

 

He stood. People still had a habit of watching him whenever he moved, which was extremely irritating, especially now, but he ignored it and approached the Slytherin table. The passed few days, he’d felt Draco’s eyes on him like a patient buzzard, but today, he didn’t even notice he was there. His concern mounted.

 

“Hey,” he said gently. He wanted to touch his shoulder but didn’t dare. Draco blinked up at him, and his eyes were dark. Harry felt something sink in his stomach. 

 

“Can I sit?”

 

“Uh, sure,” he said in surprise, and even that sounded slightly dull.

 

_He’s suppose to make a joke_ , Harry thought. 

 

That’s right. He knew Draco. He was supposed to look overly pleased, like Harry had obeyed his unspoken summons, and preen and turn the side of his face to the right angle, like he thought he had a “good side” that Harry should admire like a Greek statue. 

 

It surprised him that he knew Draco that well, a knowledge he’d been oblivious to until he found its lack. 

 

Harry crawled onto the bench, his back to the rest of the school. Draco wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t demanding that Harry tell him what he wanted. He wasn’t sprouting nonsense about his irresistibility or taunting Harry for approaching him. He was just quietly waiting for him to speak, fork resting in his hand. There was nothing else wrong except the darkness of his eyes and his stillness, and the longer he simply sat there, the greater the wildness in Harry’s chest felt. 

 

“Are you ok?”

 

Draco looked thoroughly shocked at being asked, and it made him look so honest that Harry knew this was not a conversation for the entire Hall to spy upon. 

 

“Come with me.”

 

“What?”

 

Harry had already grabbed his hand though without waiting for compliance, and Draco was stuck clumsily following his lead. The Hall burst into whispers as soon as Harry touched him, and he frowned severely enough for the first group that saw his face to stop. 

 

“Harry, I wasn’t finished eating…” Which had to be the measliest protest Draco had ever voiced. 

 

Harry searched until he found an empty, unlocked classroom. It was the old Charms room, the one that Flitwick had neglected to cleanse for a few decades, allowing it to accumulate enough excess charm-magic to bring the dust to life. It had to be abandoned in fifth year because the dust had formed armies and were commencing wars amidst the students’ feet that survived the worst of the professor’s hexes and repellants. 

 

Some type of treatise had been arranged in their absence because the small clumps were dancing softly on the desktops, swaying to sound neither Draco nor Harry heard. The sun spilling through the window behind Flitwick’s old desk was easy and soft, casting golden shadows over the waltz. 

 

Harry shut the door and cast a silencing ward. When he turned around, Draco was watching the dust. For years, he’d wanted Draco to just shut up, but he’d never thought about how unnatural it would be. He didn’t think Draco could simply be quiet and watch something as rustic and calm as dancing dust mites. Now, he couldn’t even find life in the picture, which he knew should be magical and graceful. 

 

In the safety of the room, Harry touched his elbow. Draco shrugged him off, putting some distance between them. Harry didn’t take offense, instead watching how the calm broke off his face.

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

The sound jarred the dancers, who took off hand in hand for cover. Draco swallowed but betrayed no other emotion. 

 

“Are you ok?” Harry asked again.

 

Something in his voice seemed to attack Draco, for he winced and looked away. 

 

“No. I mean, well, yes, I’m fine. It’s not… I mean it’s not… It’s not important.”

 

Harry nodded rather than argue the finer points of importance like Hermione often did to him.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

Draco stared at him with the captured eyes of a hare. “I…” He licked his lips and shifted his gaze again. “I got into a fight with my godfather.”

 

Fighting with Snape was never a good thing. Ever. So Harry didn’t have to fake remaining concerned for him.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I know you don’t like him,” the blond said, not looking up. “So I don’t know what to say.”

 

Harry thought that was unbelievably reasonable and respectful. For a moment, Harry admired that Draco possessed such qualities. 

 

“I’m not sure I _don’t_ like him anymore,” he said carefully. “I can’t say I like him, but I understand his position a little better now. And I don’t think he’s been as bad since the war.”

 

Draco was silent. The war was something they hadn’t really talked about, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to hear Draco’s side of it. 

 

“He said some things… that really upset me, and I… I hit him.”

 

“Hit him how?”

 

Draco shifted guiltily. “I slapped him.”

 

A year ago, Harry would have patted him on the back, but he knew better now. “You want to tell me what he said?”

 

Draco touched the edge of a table, still not looking at him. 

 

“Well, he is Severus.”

 

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. The statement explained so much to anyone who had ever met the man, and someone like Harry, who’d been at the end of his tongue more time than he liked to count, knew exactly what he meant. He quieted quickly, but he’d gained a bit of a smile. He waited for Draco to continue, and the smile fell, replaced by pinched silence.

 

“I think… what bothered me most… was that he said that the person I like… won’t ever be able to like me and that… my feelings are just a phase, like it was with all the other people I dated.”

 

“Is it?” Harry asked kindly. 

 

Draco shook his head, closing his eyes. 

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“Because I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t very well tell him that it just feels different.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it’s silly,” Draco replied with such frustrated vehemence that Harry had to choke down a grin. 

 

“Draco, you’re the only one who knows what you’re feeling. You didn’t feel this way with even one of your dates?”

 

“Not one,” he promised. 

 

“Forgive me,” Harry said diplomatically. “But I was under the impression that you didn’t date anyone for emotions really.”

 

Draco sent him a warning look. Harry raised his hands until Draco looked away again.

 

“I didn’t follow your exploits like the rest of the school,” he said, “but everyone knew you were emotionally… unattainable,” he said, searching for the word. “As a matter of fact, that’s all I ever heard,” he added, miffed. 

 

Lavender and Pavarti talked about it for days on end until the boys started to threaten to throw them out of the common room. Then, he listened to Hermione complain about them complaining in the dorm room. 

 

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

 

Harry scowled, not liking the way Draco sounded. 

 

“Who gives a shit?” he said a tad too harshly. “You never lied to anyone about it, and you did whatever the hell you wanted. If people call you a whore, it’s only because they’re ignorant or jealous.”

 

Draco gave a weak, nervous laugh. “You can’t honestly believe that.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Some people like to use people, and they lie about it. They tell people they’re important to them when they’re not. I don’t think you ever told anyone they were important.”

 

Draco gaped at him until he realized he was doing it and flushed.

 

“But you’re saying that you found someone important to you now,” Harry said, putting together everything he’d said and didn’t say. “And you haven’t slept with them.”

 

Draco shook his head. “Him,” he corrected softly.

 

“It doesn’t sound like you’re upset with Snape at all,” Harry said carefully.

 

Draco moved between the rows of desks. The dust watched him, sneaking from their shadows. Harry didn’t know what to say anymore. He was the last person to give relationship advice. After Cho, he’d become sort of asexual. Other than a few moments of appreciation, Harry had never approached any of his objects of interest, and he’d certainly never felt anything like what he feared Draco was feeling. After watching Ron and Hermione, he suspected he probably wouldn’t be able to look at anyone if he hadn’t already fallen in love with them. Made dating, hell even flirting, rather difficult. 

 

To be honest, Draco was making him kind of envious. The moment had turned nervously awkward.

 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

“I don’t expect you to tell me to do anything,” he said, almost affronted.

 

Harry smiled, glad that he was feeling better. “If I said anything, you’d probably do the opposite anyway.”

 

Draco didn’t laugh. Harry’s joke fell embarrassingly. 

 

“Wow,” he said quietly. “You have it bad.”

 

Draco gave a weak and clumsy sniff, turning quickly away. Harry stifled the urge to apologize. It’d taken him years, but he knew now that sometimes apologies did more harm than good. Finally, he sighed and braved through the awkwardness to speak his mind.

 

“Draco, you’re a good person. I know a lot of people think otherwise, and I think this bloke is probably one of them, but you shouldn’t listen to them. They just… they’re just hurt and confused and it’s easy to blame everything on the people like you who just got caught in the crossfire too. You have a lot of faults. God, do you have faults, but everyone does. I mean you’re an arrogant little bastard most the time, and believe it when I say people should focus on that rather than that stupid tattoo on your arm, but you’re kind when you want to be. I mean when it gets you something, which I don’t know pisses me off or amuses me. And sometimes you really shine, and I know some of it is because you’re conceited-”

 

“Merlin, Harry, shut up!” Draco interrupted. He glared at him with angry tears. “You’re not bloody helping.”

 

He hung his head in his hands. Harry stared at him until the words stopped buzzing against his teeth.

 

“My point was that I think anyone should be happy to catch your affections. It’s not an easy thing to catch.”

 

Draco looked up at him, his eyes shining with wetness. Harry gave a small, nervous smile. In a flash too fast for Harry to see, his face changed. He stalked the row, and Harry had time for only one battle-wary step backwards before Draco grabbed his jaw and kissed him.

 

The air locked in his throat. Harry was two inches shorter than the blond, and Draco had tilted his face up with his palms. He would never have guessed how overwhelming it felt to be in a position like that. He’d never let height intimidate him, since in his youth he’d always been the runt. Now, though even that small distance was impressive and unfathomable, and Harry had to combat that foreign feeling before he could even begin to register who it was kissing him.

 

He gasped, and Draco retreated, dropping his hands as well, and stepped clear away from him as if he expected Harry to hit him. Harry wasn’t even sure he was seeing him. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d been kissed, unable to connect the action to what he thought kissing meant. His chest started to hurt before he realized he’d stopped breathing. 

 

“Oh.”

 

Draco stared at him suspiciously, angling his body for a fight. 

 

Harry touched his lips and spoke again. “Oh.”

 

He made an anxious, dry chuckling sound that made Draco blush shamefully. The pressure in his chest began to loosen, and at last, he felt like he could breathe. 

 

“I wasn’t expecting that. God,” he said shakily. 

 

“What are you going to do?” Draco demanded, and Harry realized he was blocking the _locked_ door.

 

He leaned against it just so Draco would get the point. The boy paled and moved further into the center of the room, away from him. Harry spent the silence trying to wrap his head around what had happened. Part of him was still stunned, but Draco obviously needed an answer, and implausibly, he wasn’t finding himself too hesitant to give it.

 

The light from the window was soft enough to hide the sharp points of Draco’s face. In the shades though, he seemed colorless, mixtures of whites and grays that ignored even the green of his Slytherin patch. He was a cornered wary, and Harry could almost see each muscle in his shoulders and thighs beneath his robes begging escape. 

 

The last of his shock melted away until he was simply looking at Draco with a natural calmness Harry had rarely felt in the presence of anyone. He realized with sudden epiphany that he was _fond_ of Draco, something that should have but didn’t register when he’d been fretting about him across the Hall. He could hardly believe this moment was happening. It was _Draco Malfoy_.

 

Who’d in some undeterminable time had become Draco. 

 

“If you’re going to reject me-” Draco started.

 

“I’m not,” Harry said, shocking them both. 

 

They fell into uneasy silence. 

 

Hesitantly, Harry crossed the room. Draco watched him with fretful, skittish eyes, but he didn’t retreat anymore. He was shaking.

 

Harry had never done anything like this before. He’d never thought about it. But he’d made a decision, one that had been ridiculously easier than it should have been, and Harry always fed on the strength of his decisions. It was the only way he’d survived the war. He supposed reacting was simpler than acting. He’d always been a defensive fighter. 

 

“I’m not as sure about this as you are,” he said.

 

Draco’s eyes were as wide as nickels. He stayed so still, Harry suspected Draco thought he’d run if he moved. Harry wondered if one of them was always going to be frozen in some state of shock. 

 

“Are you teasing me?”

 

Harry shook his head. “No. No, Draco.”

 

“Really?”

 

He smiled. With strange confidence, Harry brushed his bangs back, making Draco’s throat go dry. 

 

“Really.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally get to SMEXY times :) just Drarry for the moment
> 
> THANX to all who commented!!!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for SEX and Voyeurism

Severus knew the moment Draco and Potter started dating. They didn’t announce it to the school, and Potter didn’t show excess displays of affections, but it was rather obvious from looking at Draco. The boy looked like he had swallowed a thousand-watt bulb. Severus’ insult seemed to have been completely forgotten, which both elated and pained him. He avoided them, Draco in particular. The boy had come down no doubt to give him the happy news, but Severus had made some excuse about brewing and shut the door in his face. 

 

He was thankful that Potter seemed to have the sense to keep the dalliance on the sly. He had no doubt that the rest of the Golden Trio knew about it. (He couldn’t expect Potter to be that reserved.) Though the Death Eaters had been rounded up or were too deep in hiding to attack him, Potter’s celebrity status was almost as dangerous as rogue war criminals. His fanmail ranged from messages from fanatical cults to disgustedly descriptive death threats. Minerva had the elves sorting through the fare before it reached the boy so the only letters that reached his table and could cause a fuss were the marriage proposals and political tripe. 

 

Severus had seen quite a few of the unsavory letters though. More than enough to worry for the safety of his godson should it be known that they were even amicable. Minerva had enlisted the elves to intercept his own mail and any of the Death Eater children’s as well, and even that invasion of privacy didn’t spurn him after a house elf suffered the flogging curse meant for him.

 

For being a disgusting, emotional Gryffindor, Potter didn’t really wear his heart on his sleeve, sporting foolish grins (like Draco) or exchanging clandestine touches. He was sure Potter had been more demonstrative as a child. Severus couldn’t be that blindly mistaken. But now, maybe because of the war (if Severus still didn’t doubt that he could possibly be that mature), he’d become a solemn adult. 

 

Oh, he smiled and laughed and reacted to his peers like he was nothing more than a normal eighteen-year-old. There was some difference, that introspectiveness and quiet that he’d noticed after the trials, so atypical of Potter. It took him longer than it should have for him to notice it, that it only wasn’t his secret lover (Severus had to sneer the word even in his head) that he hesitated to touch in public. 

 

The Weasley hung around him like a repulsively loyal hound but didn’t initiate contact. No adolescent ribbing. No _manly_ slaps on the back. For how close they were, they were remarkably distant. And the Granger-girl, she’d tap him for attention, but she displayed none of the cloying clinging that were usually attributed to childhood friends.

 

It was so unGryffindor. 

 

Despite Draco’s – slightly subtle – attempts to grope him, the boy didn’t seem to mind his reticence that much, which meant Potter was probably more personable in private. _Which Severus did not want to think about_. 

 

No. Unfortunately, he had to witness it.

 

The professors drew slots each year to monitor the halls and the prefects, who seemed to have trouble doing their duties while they themselves engaged in illicit affairs, after curfew. But thanks to Severus’ insomnia, typically the hours were pushed onto him in return for small favors, such as his favorite cognac. He’d developed a myriad of detection charms over the years that he used equally between the war and finding clandestine students. 

 

Now, the prefects had all been sent off, and Severus was left alone to haunt the shadowed castle. One of his charms was telling him that two students were ensconced in a classroom, and in a foul mood all week, he was going to scare the bloody miscreants to death. The spell he used was second nature. 

 

However, he had not been thinking about the most recent relationship between the houses when he was dismantling the ward around the Arithmancy classroom. He was prepared to burst in with his usual flair when some sudden instinctual foreboding stilled him, causing him to glance through the crack. 

 

He gasped through his nose, the trapped air burning like forge-iron through his lungs. 

 

Potter was lying on a conjured mattress with Draco in his lap. From the vantage of the door, Severus could see exactly how his prick was straining to thrust into Draco, who kept irritably flicking his hands away from his hips as he rode him. Severus collapsed to his knees. He should have moved away. He should have broken them up or cursed them or left them alone or anything besides watching from between that narrow frame. 

 

Potter clawed the mattress, looking very much like he wanted some sheets. His head was thrown to the side, thighs quivering with the need to arch. Draco must have put a spell on his hips because his heels kept kicking but gained no ground. A look of sin was on Draco’s face, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. It was _obscene_. His smile was wicked. When Potter finally abandoned control and flung his nails against the rim of the mattress, his hands spread over Harry’s chest, claiming the sweat and pectorals. He sank down and up, squeezing his abdomen with perfect practice. Potter looked like he was in more pain than pleasure, bruises around his lips, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched so tight Severus could watch his molars. His tongue seemed stuck at the back of his throat, pitted against even his moans.

 

Severus felt the tremendous urge to aid in unsticking that jaw. He wanted to hear the sounds Potter could make when he gave up _everything_. He wanted to hear him scream. He wondered what it was like to feel him thrashing, writhing, clawing like a wild cat being ridden. He wondered what it was like to taste it, how it felt to have someone as righteous and willful as Potter surrender to him. 

 

The image knocked the breath from him. He was supposed to be concentrating on Draco, how pale and beautiful he looked while being fucked. He had caught him with partners before, and he had slunk away feeling ashamed and furious. But this time, Potter’s submission outshone even the familiar temptation of Draco’s confidence. 

 

Severus watched the orgasm coming. Potter’s body stiffened, abdomen so tight that his ribs shone. He threw his head back and almost choked on his tongue. His toes curled, and even his legs curved, breaking the spell at last with a single uncontrolled thrust. His hips fell as his back arched so wild that it almost drove Draco from his seat. The blond reached down and captured his hands like reins. He closed his eyes and whimpered, mimicking the bow of Potter’s sublime spine. The blond’s orgasm was less intense but no less pleasurable, his untouched cock splattering Potter’s chest and all the way up to his chin. 

 

The tension fled from Potter like a potion. He rested his back against the mattress, sliding out his feet. He came back down from the high with the grace that had been absent in gaining it. Releasing the mattress and Draco’s limp fingers, his breathing was only slightly erratic. Nothing like Draco, who panted like he’d won a marathon, even his smirk dimmed and exhausted. 

 

Severus watched Potter smile. Ignoring the cum on his chest, Potter smoothed his hand along Draco’s neck, running behind his ear and into his hair. He leaned up and kissed him. Severus had seen snakes dance and birds dive less graceful than the way Potter moved against Draco’s mouth, nodding and turning and pulling with a patient slowness that shamed the most devoted hunter. 

 

When at last Draco stopped panting like a workhorse, Potter drifted away into pecks, holding onto Draco’s face as he did so. They stared at each other and Severus left. 

 

This was the first time he had watched Draco to completion and the usual rage and shame, so strong he burned, was absent. He felt sick. He’d learned to accept his desire of Draco. The boy _enjoyed_ learning how to give and take pleasure, and it was hard to feel guilt for admiring the way he’d built his craft. And even if he could admit that Potter was beautiful ( _fuck_ , fuck, fuck, fuck), even if he could find it in him not to be revolted that Potter had his nasty prick inside his godson ( _FUCK_ ), he shouldn’t feel like this. 

 

He should have left right as they climaxed. He could have continued believing that he was just a randy bastard, that this was a pleasant daydream that he could tell _no one_. Simple smut. But that kiss, that look, he’d invaded on something _private_ , something he never wanted to see. And curse him but Potter had wrists he wanted to chain, such a bendable spine, and patience that he longed to break. And his own prick was so painful.

 

He collapsed against a wall. His finger strayed to the front of his robes before he bit back a furious scream. He didn’t like beauty! He didn’t like boys with integrity in their eyes because they only lived to die bitter. He didn’t like men like Harry Potter!

 

He palmed himself through his robes, biting his lip. God, he could _feel_ the picture frame in front of him. He was in the middle of a hall in a school. 

 

He didn’t like Harry Potter! 

 

And Severus Snape knew himself a damned fool.

 

o.O.o

 

Draco played with Harry’s hair. He’d tried to charm the locks calm, and Harry had only let him, amused. They weren’t any softer than he expected, rather ratty in fact and in need of a good trim. He fiddled with the split ends and dreamed of getting Harry into a bathtub with enough potions and creams to fix it. 

 

Harry didn’t care one way or the other, and other than give Draco a look that told him he knew exactly what he was thinking, continued to doze. Draco sometimes wondered if Harry even cared whether he cleaned the semen off of them. It was the first thing he’d done after they settled into the afterglow and Harry had only stretched and sighed like a great cat from a nap.

 

Once, Draco thought that would have annoyed him. It certainly would have bruised his ego, but now, he understood a lot of things better. 

 

Harry did not cuddle. He’d assumed he would and was slightly disappointed, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that he didn't complain with whatever Draco did after they had sex. When he’d decided to press up beside him, Harry had opened his arm and closed his eyes. 

 

Draco traced his face. He only did it because he was sure no one else was allowed. He was so trusting, and that more than the sex was what made Draco love him. 

 

Tonight was the first time Harry had let him be on top. Harry had started as a lover by memorizing him. Draco wasn’t quite sure what he’d done with other people and was too hesitant to ask, but he’d learned every spot that Draco liked in just two nights. _Fucking natural talent in bloody everything_ , he couldn’t help but grumble. But he’d asked Draco to lie still and ran his hands over _everything_ , and Draco couldn’t decide whether or not that was cheating. 

 

He was a giving lover, so gentle and determined and damned curious that even though Draco was far more accustomed to rough fucking, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. It felt strange and wonderful to be adored like that. He got so impatient with the foreplay though that he nearly always ended up shouting, which Harry found a tad too entertaining. 

 

Draco admitted that he liked feeling dirty (emotionally not physically). He liked being bent over desks or pushed against walls in public places, but he knew Harry wasn’t as crass.

 

Harry was a good lover but a horrible fucker. 

 

Draco had planned to try to treat Harry with the same adoration that Harry gave him but it was so much bloody _work_. He wondered how Harry did it. The type of dedication it took to really _worship_ his body was _so tiring_. So he settled for the smutty torture that he was used to, that he knew he was good at. The problem was though, that he wasn’t sure if Harry had really enjoyed it. 

 

Sure, he’d had a rather violent orgasm but… Draco didn’t like thinking that Harry restricted his worth to sex games. 

 

He ran his nail down the side of Harry’s face. Anyone else he’d done that with had shivered or scowled at him, but it didn’t faze Harry at all. 

 

“Harry?”

 

“Hnn,” he responded sleepily.

 

Draco watched his face for signs of revulsion. He really didn’t know how to ask what he wanted without sounding like a fool. 

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

Harry sighed, raising the arm he had beneath Draco’s waist to brush lightly against his hipbone, making a lazy swirl. 

 

“I was thinking that I wish we had a better place to be together because meeting like this isn’t enough.”

 

“I could always go to your common room,” he said. “You know, if you want to see me for stuff besides sex.”

 

Harry turned to look at him. Draco felt oddly vulnerable and had the strange sensation that he was going to be rejected. 

 

“I would love to see you ever moment of the day,” Harry said, his eyes like molten jade in the darkness. “But we’ve already talked about this.”

 

Draco huffed glumly, resting his brow on Harry’s chest. They had talked about it. Harry didn’t want Draco involved with the press. Someone had sold some of his hair on the black market, and a letter had come in from a woman claiming to be carrying his child. Letters like that came in every once and while, but this one had been rather serious. The woman was a witch who sent him weekly post, one of the few that Harry read with any regularity. She was sweet, but he hadn’t wanted to encourage her, but she didn’t really ask anything of him anyway. Some wizard across the street had gotten his hands on the hair and polyjuiced himself. They’d had intercourse, fake-Harry extracting a promise from her never to tell anyone, and it had resulted in a child and a very sentimental, scared letter from a very good if gullible person. 

 

Harry had paid to care for the child and the woman and made sure the rapist was in for a long stay in Azkaban, but the fact remained that someone close to Harry had gotten some of his hair and made a quick galleon off of it. Draco wasn’t safe being in a public relationship with him. Draco had to admit that he was rather scared of it too. The public barely tolerated him even when he wasn’t in a relationship with their darling saint.

 

After the whole Dumbledore’s Army fiasco, the Room of Requirement had become as public a place for shagging as the Astronomy Tower, and they really had nowhere to go without leaving campus. Draco had flat out refused the Shrieking Shack. That place still creeped him out. He didn’t care what Harry said about Lupin and werewolves and rumors. Not to mention it was probably filthy. 

 

So they had to settle for a conjured mattress on a classroom floor. It was better than nothing. It was better than Draco would have dreamed of a few weeks ago. They talked for a little bit about Ron and Hermione’s budding romance. Draco still wasn’t on the best of terms with Ron, though his prowess in chess had earned him some grace, but Hermione allowed him to use her first name now, which Draco used half the time to piss off Weasley. 

 

The talk didn’t last long, as they still had class in the morning and only a few hours to get some sleep. They pulled on their clothes, Draco making his ritual faces at Harry’s hand-me-downs, when Harry suddenly stiffened. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Did you leave the door cracked?”

 

Draco turned to look at it. He remembered putting up a ward and locking the door, but he couldn’t remember closing it all the way.

 

“It might have bounced back.”

 

Harry looked uncertain and examined it. “The wards are gone.”

 

A shadow passed through Draco, prickling. Some of it was fear, but he’d never held the same phobia of the media as Harry. As long as he was in Hogwarts, he thought he was fine. No, instead, he was focused on how someone had been watching them, had seen Harry at his most vulnerable and they hadn’t even realized. It was the first time he considered that distracting Harry could be dangerous, could hurt him.

 

Draco grabbed his hand. “We’ll just have to see what happens in the morning,” he said with more calm than he felt.

 

Harry nodded, looking ill. He demanded another quick kiss before he allowed Harry to disappear beneath his invisibility cloak. And he demanded another when Harry didn’t seem to realize that that was supposed to relax him. He gave a nervous smile and vanished. 

 

As he went his own way to the dungeons, cautious of vengeful students, he thought of the fear that ran through him. He found himself surprising blasé about incurring the wrath of England. But what if someone really had seen Harry, seen that most private part of him?

 

Draco had poised for seedy voyeurs before. He didn’t care at all about whether or not someone saw him climax because that was his power, but the idea that someone might have seen Harry made him sick.

 

He sighed, pressing along the wall, wary of waking the portraits. He wished Severus were speaking to him. He could have really used his advice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some "negotiations" happen between Severus, Draco, and Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think if you want! :)

Severus did not look at Draco. He did not look at Harry. He’d remember those heated dreams, and he’d remember how much he hated himself for being attracted not only to his godson but James’ son. Lily’s boy. What was wrong with him?

 

He wasn’t like this. He didn’t spy on teenagers having sex, and he certainly didn’t toss off to it like some randy pedophile. The generation beneath him was idiotic, feckless prodigy. He could look at any of them and only find them worthy of potion ingredients. Nothing had changed. 

 

But Potter…

 

The image blazed across his eyes whenever he tried to rest them. With spy-like precision, he’d picked out the chords of his tendons, the map of veins on his sunless upper thighs. Something as futile and worthless as his stupid tan lines was still fastened to his mind. 

 

He’d always despised the use of that boy as a weapon, the same way he had despised almost everything about Dumbledore (no, stop thinking about that). But the arch of his body had been reminiscent of a bow, stretching himself outside his bounds. Draco astride, riding the bucks with pearly thighs, taming the beast in some frivolous harlequin romance. In all the dark endeavors he’d witnessed of his godchild, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him like that. He was always beautiful, always confident and brilliant in his wiles, but he’d never been like that. 

 

Made _powerful_ by the shadow of his partner. And Severus never knew. Never knew that he wanted such a thing, beyond the shackles of attraction and into fascination. 

 

Not that he wanted it. It was just a moment. Even a persistent iniquity lasted no longer than a week. Like anything, it could be controlled. It could be ignored.

 

But his eyes still would not light on his godson and Mr. Potter, skimming over them in the Great Hall, passed in the corridors, avoided in the classroom. Day one turned into three, and the fever endured his best attempts all the way into Old Ogden’s. 

 

The bell rang for third period, and the students hastened to wipe their tables and gather their books before departing for lunch. It was an impressive day outside, bright with the last of November, possibly the last of the warm days before winter. The sky was a gorgeous egg-blue, and Severus was sure that the grounds would be littered with picnics. 

 

Wearing last night’s cologne of stale ale and bruised eyes, he collapsed into the seat behind his desk, preparing to start on the massive pile of grading he had put off during the weekend. He had grabbed the first sheet and dipped in his quill when he noticed that he wasn’t alone. 

 

Potter and Draco both had hung back, their stations clear but their attention on him. He suppressed a groan and continued grading, hoping rather vainly that ignoring them would make them go away. They spent a long moment in silence, the unease growing in him until he was going to explode. 

 

“Did you see us?”

 

Severus’ quill scratched across the parchment, drawing a long stretch of red over Susan Bones’ assignment. He didn’t speak to control his breathing, staring at the scratch. Draco leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms like a smug little heel. 

 

“You left the door open,” he said.

 

Severus continued the pretense of grading, reminding himself of all the reasons he’d ignored his godson for three long years. “What you chose to do in your spare time is hardly at my discretion though you will refrain from using the classrooms as your personal harem.”

 

That should have been the end of it. Draco could huff and puff all he wanted, scream out all the horrible things Severus was thinking about himself. Potter would show his disgust and he’d be lucky to keep his job. (Well, he was going to leave anyway once he set up a pseudonym for his potion articles. What was a few months planning?) 

 

He really should have known Draco better. The boy sauntered to his desk, forcing up Severus’ eye purely on defensive instinct. He leaned over the wood, propping up his bum, and leered.

 

“You liked it.”

 

Severus snarled. He refused to have this conversation with Draco and certainly not with Potter in the room, judging him. 

 

Draco paled at his vehemence, all bark no bite like usual. 

 

Severus said nothing, returning to the papers. 

 

Draco stepped uncertainly away from the desk. 

 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he thought of this. Surprisingly, the fact that Severus Snape had seen them shagging didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. It was impossible to think of Draco as a chaste schoolgirl, indignant of being objectified. Hell, the boy loved being perceived that way sometimes. He failed to work up indignation of his own behalf as well. 

 

Draco talked about Snape in ways that Harry had never imagined possible. He knew the sacrifices the man had made for the war, with almost no appeal for himself, no expectations of salvation. He’d spent the entire summer (amidst funerals and media that would not let him forget) trying to accept his own reservations about what had happened, faults and failures and hope that withered and flailed in the dust. 

 

He was not the same person. The boy that would have condemned Malfoy for being spoiled, that would have forgiven anything in the world if someone would have accepted him.

 

This wasn’t the Snape that he knew. The anger was there, the bitter- and sourness. But he was not overwhelmed by it like he’d been as a child. Like the thing between them had finally died, leaving space that neither of them understood. Connected of course by Draco.

 

He looked over Snape’s face. It still was not beautiful, sallow instead of porcelain pale like Draco, beaked, eyes worn thin like a favorite, abused shirt. But Harry was not particularly fond of beauty like Draco, who was sometimes like wearing a string of heavy pearls. Strangely, he could imagine touching Severus’ face with all the pleasure of touching weathered stone. And he knew, with the curiosity and the delight of finding that he held Draco Malfoy’s affections, that he could also enjoy the depth of Severus’ wellspring eyes. 

 

Draco looked up at him. Harry turned to intercept it and found such simple yearning, hesitant and nervous like a young snake’s tongue testing foreign air. Harry wondered if what they were doing was stupid, but he wondered the same thing with Draco. Maybe it was magic. Like immersing yourself in fire over and over again to enjoy the tickle of the flames. 

 

Draco must have seen it because the doubt fell from him. He made a broad smile, leaving Harry to blink with confusion. He strode around Severus’ desk with all the possessive grace of a feline. Snape tensed and started a mordant comment. Draco looped his arms around his neck and met his mouth at the same time that his legs crawled up into Snape’s chair. 

 

Draco really wasn’t a chaste kind of person Harry mused dumbly as he watched with impartial fascination. Draco started stroking the inside of Snape’s mouth with his tongue, crawling all the way into his lap. He wore the violent, smug grin of a conquistador. Such a greedy bastard. 

 

Having captured Harry but lost Severus, he hadn’t felt satisfied, but this… This was _perfect_. 

 

Severus blinked himself out of despondency. 

 

This was the moment he was supposed to throw him off. Harry waited for it, not sure if he should be angry or… God knew what. 

 

Snape startled them both by springing to his feet. He grabbed the boy by the back of his thighs and pushed him atop his desk, scattering papers. They fluttered with the movements of lost birds, reeling. He towered between Draco’s legs, bruising Draco’s mouth and capturing his hands so the conqueror turned powerless. 

 

Draco lost all resolve but to move against his will, tightening his thighs, clenching his fingers around the man’s palm, opening and tilting his mouth wherever Severus wanted. 

 

But just as quickly as it came, Severus left. Draco whined and panted, clawing back for him like an abandoned child, sprawled indecently across the desktop.

 

Harry’s satchel hit the floor. This kind of thing was far ( _far, far, far_ ) outside his comfort zone. Or that’s what he thought before he watched Snape devour his pseudo-boyfriend and instead of being insanely jealous and angry was unbelievably turned on. 

 

He collapsed onto a stool. His first thought besides “Damn” was “Why Snape?” Was this just because the sight of Draco being so thoroughly ravaged was fucking hot? Could it have been anyone? Was he sick?

 

But he thought about Severus, how Snape’s voice could cut through steel and wondered what it would feel like in a caress. He thought about how artful his hands were, terrible, stained weapons, and a chill went down his spine. Because really no one besides Severus Snape could personify pleasure like an art of war. Elegant in a brutal, devastating way, like a carrion bird. 

 

Snape stalked the length of the room to him, and Harry wondered at how he had never realized how dangerously graceful the way he walked was. It couldn’t have been but a meter but he managed the distance like a long hall. 

 

He waited in nervous anticipation (mouth dry, stomach hollow and tight) for the seconds in the distance to pass, prick straining his pants. Snape grabbed him by the back of his neck, and something distant in Harry’s mind told him that it wasn’t something he could escape. He gasped, all his muscles jumping and pulling in strange, unfounded dimensions. Frightful sensations that he felt once when a basilisk bore down on him. Harry didn’t know how to move, submitting to the mouth with terrible abandon. 

 

This wasn’t like Draco. He felt breathless, petrified, and it took long moments to realize that he was scared, far longer than it took him to realize that he liked it. 

 

The stool skidded out from under him as he suddenly flung his arms around Snape’s neck, pressing for more of the heat of his mouth. His knees struck the desk, working to climb over when he realized he couldn’t simply move through it. His groin thrust, hitting granite. He made an aggravated groan, half-crazed and willing to punish Severus for the unyielding properties of matter. 

 

They separated with a pop. Harry kept his grip around the front of Snape’s robes, animal madness still crossing his vision before succumbing to shock. 

 

Draco lay across the desk, watching them upside down with his mouth agape. 

 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed out, smiling. “I think I love you.”

 

o.O.o

 

Harry stumbled into his dorm with his lips still sore and the taste of Severus’ tongue still in his mouth. Ron was reading a magazine on the bed, waiting for Hermione to finish class. He looked up when Harry entered.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

Harry opened his mouth and nothing came out. He pulled a hand over his face. 

 

“Kind of.”

 

“Kind of?” he repeated, pulling a face. 

 

“I… Well, he… and the… but it wasn’t… Fuck.”

 

Ron stared at him as if he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or drag him to Pomfrey. 

 

“Shower,” Harry decided. Cold, cold shower, he thought, leaving.

 

Ron gaped after him and decided he didn’t want to know, not when it kind of included Malfoy, even if it did look like Harry had just had the best shag of his life.

 

o.O.o

 

“I could be either of your fathers,” Severus said.

 

Harry refrained from snorting, that idea as ludicrous as Aunt Petunia acting like his mother. Draco answered with a smirk, flicking his fingers in superior sort of way that Harry thought all purebloods learned. 

 

“You’re not,” he said, as if Snape were stupid.

 

“If you have not forgotten,” Snape said hotly, “I am your professor!” 

 

“And we’re eighteen,” Draco combated easily. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

 

Snape clenched his jaw. “As bloody infuriating as your father,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes a moment. “Potter,” he snapped with familiar disdain, “you cannot possibly be considering this _folly_.”

 

Harry gave him a hard look. “I can when you bloody well kiss me like that.”

 

Severus snapped something foul in a French, nearly spitting. And yeah, that was kind of hot too.

 

The three of them had convened in the office behind the potion’s classroom, Severus to make clear in no uncertain terms that what had happened could not be talked about and would never happen again; Potter and Draco with the precise purpose of talking about it to make sure it happened a lot. 

 

Severus did not date. The most regularity he had in partners was buying the same prostitute for more than one night in a row. Even the idea of having… _boyfriends_ was repulsive and ridiculous. Now, he had two teenagers (who he was admittedly, horribly attracted to) trying to convince him to enter a _menage de troi_ , with whom _both_ he had incompatible history, one he helped (distantly) parent and the other he had spent the better part of two decades hating, and he was still their bloody teacher. 

 

Severus had realized when Draco was fifteen that he held an improper attraction for the boy and eased a bit of his ego by saying he was sure anybody with an ounce of repressed sexual tension would feel attracted to him. He had vowed never to let anything come of it, thinking incorrectly that the want would go away. 

 

This never would have happened if Draco hadn’t goaded him. What the hell was he thinking kissing them?

 

“And I don’t suppose either of you care that this could end my career and ruin my name.”

 

Draco crawled into his lap. “We can keep a secret,” he said with a sultry smile.

 

“God damn it, Draco! Get off my lap!”

 

“This isn’t a game. We know that,” Harry said, giving a disproving look to his partner. Draco didn’t even have the grace to acknowledge it.

 

“Severus, you know I always get everything I want.”

 

Severus’ eyes darted to Potter, and he couldn’t disagree. Harry Potter pretty much covered ‘everything.’ The Gryffindor watched him with a seriousness completely absent in Draco. Severus realized a moment too late that he hadn’t pushed Draco off like he should have, had instead opened his legs to accommodate him. 

 

Harry observed him before speaking quietly, “If you want, you can just date Draco until you get to know me better.”

 

Severus gaped at him before he exploded, “I don’t want to _date_ either of you!”

 

“It’s not like we’re asking you to bond with us, Severus,” Draco said, leaning back on the man’s thighs with his hands in his lap. His voice seemed to suggest he thought Severus was being irrationally silly. “If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out. Maybe it will turn out that you don’t like either of us for anything but sex. You can still part ways satisfied.”

 

Potter frowned at that but didn’t speak. 

 

Severus wasn’t sure how he felt about Potter, but he knew he valued Draco more than just physically. He cared for his feelings far beyond the superficial level and found even his ability to be a royal pain in the arse refreshing from the pleasantries that people excreted to hide their arrogance. The boy was a sin but a childish one, as far as having a raging sexual appetite could be considered childish. 

 

He sighed. Ever since Draco was a small child, he’d had Severus wrapped around his little finger. Draco recognized that sigh and grinned. Severus stood, causing the boy to fall in his arse. 

 

“Get out.”

 

“But, Sev,” he pouted.

 

Potter started to laugh but covered it with his hand, instead looking like he was convulsing. 

 

“Out!” Severus yelled. 

 

Draco turned to Harry after the door had shut in their faces. An excited grin decorated his face. He grabbed Harry’s hand and ran from the room, eager to find a deserted room so he could get Harry’s cock in him.

 

This had to be one of the best days of his life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays quidditch, and Ginny is awesome. Some TLC moments with Harry and his snakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you all for the kudos!!!!
> 
> And the lovely message. That just really made my day.

Harry struggled to see through the rain. Icy sheets pelted the field. He could hardly see the stadium, much less the snitch, and could barely make out Dean’s voice narrating the game from the box. Something that might have been a player flew passed him, almost knocking him off his broom. 

This weather was shit. The charm to keep his goggles clear was faltering just from sheer undulation. The water was cold. He had refreshed the warming charms on his hands eleven times since the game started four hours ago, and already they’d gone numb again. This was impossible. He couldn’t even see the end of his broom.

He had a split-second warning before a bludger almost careened into his head. He expelled his breath shakily, flying higher. For a moment, he was jealous that Draco had quit the team. They weren’t playing Slytherin, but even the idea of not being forced into this weather was enviable. 

The snitch suddenly whizzed past his face, followed by the Hufflepuff seeker, a knee almost knocking the side of his head. Harry followed, barely able to make out the smudge of his back. He took a dive, and Harry measured the angle and distance to pull alongside him. He had no idea how far up he was anymore, which meant he had no idea how close the ground was either, but he could see the snitch again. After half a minute, the other seeker chickened out, but Harry was too determined to get out of this foul weather and inside by a fire to heed the alarm going off in his head. 

The snitch took a ninety-degree turn, swooping beneath his legs. Harry couldn’t flip, struggling even to pull his broom up against the current of the wind. His knees scraped the ground. He lost his balance and toppled in an undignified sprawl. His legs immediately smarted, bruised all the way to the bone. He was amazed they were not broken.

Well, that was incredibly stupid, he thought. He stood, battered, soaked, cold, and snitch-less. He cursed and tried to climb back onto his broom, searching for Madam Hooch. 

Lightning flashed and a loud thunder made him jolt. People were going to get killed out in this. He didn’t even know what the score was.

Somebody suddenly landed beside him. Colin, the beater.

“You alright, Harry?”

He wondered how he could see him in this, yelling over the storm. Harry clapped his shoulder, finding no words of encouragement. He accioed his broom, waiting the extra minutes for it to make its way from where it had been tossed by the wind.

“Get back up there and try not to hit our players,” he screamed before taking off. 

It was another hour before he spotted the snitch again, careening through the stands. He wondered briefly where Draco was sitting before he had to focus on not clipping the heads of the bystanders. He was aching all over, so exhausted he wasn’t entirely sure he _could_ catch the snitch if he was close enough. 

The Hufflepuff seeker suddenly lost control of his broom and smacked into him. They flailed in a pit of limbs, Harry getting clocked across the jaw before they started to spiral towards the ground. The other flyer panicked. Harry grabbed his broom and spun them both, feeling his center of gravity shift so they were no longer plummeting. He thought. 

Several bruises the worse, they finally disentangled themselves. Obviously, the snitch was lost. Harry cursed, flinging himself away from the other seeker before he started pummeling him. 

It was well into night, all but the diehard fans leaving the stadium, before Harry finally caught the damn snitch. 

“That was a fucking nightmare,” Ron announced when they collapsed in the tent, removing his keeper’s helmet and shaking out his red hair. 

“I think I scored on the wrong goal,” Ginny said.

Harry wasn’t the only one bruised up. The chasers had slammed against each other so many times that two of them were sporting broken arms and one had a dislocated shoulder. Ginny was nursing her arm gingerly, testing the agility of her blue fingers. Everyone looked ready to collapse. 

Someone from the Hufflepuff team had fallen off their broom and Pomfrey had to mend to her first, but Hermione came around with her meager training, healing the worst of the bruises and hypothermia. Harry wobbled to a bench. Now that the game was over, he was feeling every ache and pain five times over. His bones felt like tenderloin, his muscles soup. He started the wary strip out of his gear before someone made a catcall and started laughing.

Confused, Harry looked around, not even realizing the calls were directed at him. This was hardly the first time he had disrobed, even in front of Ginny or Hermione or that new chaser that took over for Alicia.

“Someone’s been getting some,” Roger Mauchery jeered, the other beater beside Colin.

Harry looked down. His chest was littered with bite marks and hickeys. He frowned, irritated with himself for being so stupid.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” Mauchery asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry rolled his eyes, unable even to sound probably goaded. “None of your business.”

“Oh come on, Harry,” he cajoled, joined by the eager eyes of the rest of his team. “You gotta tell us. Someone’s wild enough to corrupt Saint Potter.”

Even like he was, Harry made an effort not to get pissed. It wasn’t a secret among Gryffindor house that Harry didn’t participate in the late night revelry of the rest of the male dorm. He did not compare breasts or look at magazines or make treks into the girl’s dormitory. The blokes had taken to calling him Saint Potter (rather ironically stolen from Malfoy) and it pissed him off.

“It’s me,” Ginny said suddenly and Roger quieted. She sent him a superior glare, ruined somewhat by her battered appearance. “Harry didn’t want to say it because I asked him not to. I didn’t want you guys ragging on about it every time we got into the locker room,” she said making even Harry flush.

Mauchery glanced down at his toes. “Sorry, Gin. Didn’t mean anything by it, you know.”

Ginny gave an affronted sniff and turned away, unlacing her boots with her single good hand. The boys returned to their own gear, quiet and chagrined. Harry pulled on a t-shirt and dared not remove his trousers. 

“Thanks, Gin,” he said quietly when he went to help with her laces. 

She gave a tense smile. “I have to admit,” she said, staring at his neck, where a taste of brownish red was escaping his collar. “Those marks are pretty impressive.”

Harry blushed. Great. Now he just had to explain to Draco and Snape why the school’s going to start whistling at him whenever he walked through the halls with her or sat beside her at dinner. He hated his life.

 

o.O.o

 

Harry managed to call Draco down to Snape’s quarters after making sure all his teammates were cared for and off to bed. They had been using his study as a meeting place for homework and the small hours where they could spend together alone without rutting on each other. Draco was a creature prone to cuddling even without the affair of sex, something that Harry found both peculiar and endearing. 

He explained the situation to both of them, and while neither was pleased, neither had they blown up at him. 

“So I take it she knows about us?” Draco said. 

Harry nodded. “I told her because Ron would have told her even if I hadn’t, and she can be trusted not to tell anyone else.”

“And have you told anyone about the other aspect of your relationship?” Snape said from behind his desk.

“No, and I don’t plan to until after I graduate. But Hermione will figure it out on her own.”

“And she will keep silent?” he said dubiously.

Harry rubbed his eyes, legs quivering. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Probably. After she yells at me. But she’ll probably find it morally reprehensible, quote a section of the school code, then try to convince me I’m going through a crisis based on some post-war psychological bollucks she’d read from a German textbook three years ago. She’ll probably throw in a derivative of an Oedipus complex as well to make it seem like I’m trying to compensate for the fatherly attachment I never had by misconstruing the type of relationship I want with Snape for something sexual.”

No one spoke. He was in the strange state of tired where he was nauseous.

“My respect for your intelligence has increased significantly, Potter,” Severus said. “There were at least three good points in there and you even used the correct vocabulary.”

Harry laughed-groaned. “You spend seven years with Hermione, it kind of rubs off.”

“I’ll take Mr. Weasley as proof, shall I?” he said with a raised brow. 

Harry shrugged. “I need to get back to the dormitory. I doubt they’re celebrating, but someone will notice I’m gone.”

“Ginny could just say you spend the night with her,” Draco said with a suggestive smile.

“Ginny’s just as tired as I am. Neither one of us is in the mood for sex.”

“Well then it’s just as good that neither one of you will be having sex,” Snape said, pushing back his seat. “You should soak in a bath. It will do wonders for your sore muscles.”

It was tempting. Harry was still in his quidditch trousers, spelled dry but stiff and uncomfortable with grass and sweat. And his legs were screaming at him. In the hubbub of getting his teammates tended to, he had forgotten to tend himself. He could already imagine the difficulties he would have rising in the morning, and a quick shower really just couldn’t do the trick.

“If you’re sure it’s not a bother.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Give it a minute to warm,” he said, disappearing into the rooms beyond the desk that Harry had never broached.

He collapsed into the sofa, his head uncommonly heavy. Draco scooted close beside him.

“He likes you,” he grinned.

“I thought we’d established this.”

“No, I mean he _likes_ you. The way I like you. For more than just your rugged good looks.”

Harry gave a grunt that could have passed for a snort in a past life. 

“I like him too.”

“Really?” Draco asked in that eager way that made Harry want to give him the world.

“I think so,” he said with a tired smile. “He’s perfect for when you exhaust me.” 

Draco rolled his eyes fondly, parting the hair to either side of his face. “You make me sound deplorable.”

“You are deplorable.”

Draco brushed a gentle kiss against his lips. Harry responded with meager pressure, but Draco seemed content to just be at his side tonight, even if he stunk. He rested his head on his shoulder. Perhaps to reward him for being so understanding, Harry placed his hand in his hair, gently kneading the silken tresses. Since Harry had mentioned it once, Draco had stopped slicking it back. He was fascinated by how soft it was and correctly assumed that Draco treated his hair with potions. The boy probably moisturized like a little princess too. 

Severus returned, gesturing that the bath was ready. “I really appreciate this, sir,” he said standing. 

He wobbled slightly on uneasy legs. “Shit, no I’m fine,” he said to Draco, who moved to hover. “Sorry,” he said contritely to Snape. 

“For being tired?” he asked with a queer expression.

Harry shrugged. “Being a bother mostly.”

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ve invited you in. There is no need for you to remain so penitent.”

“It’s not a _need_ ,” he muttered, passing him into the inner quarters. 

It was a meager suite. There was a hearth, a blue fire lapping merrily in midair. It was mostly unadorned, lacking tapestries and frames. A single candelabrum, whose red candles were melted in a macabre beauty over the tarnished silver, rested alone on the mantle. There was a single dresser, the mirror polished but corroded. The old oak was treated kindly, brass handles gleaming in the blue light. The bed was large, the only thing in the room not austere. The sheets were black and cotton, folded crisply, and a book laid parted over the nightstand where a lamp burned lowly. The floor hosted nothing more than a sparse rug.

“Curiosity sated?” Snape said snidely. 

Harry smirked. “I have the urge to rumple your sheets.”

“I know!” Draco crowed behind him.

Snape sent them half-hearted glares, moving to reveal the open bathroom. Harry took the hint. Steam was rising, the mirror misted. He had an old-fashioned loo with a clubfoot tub that wasn’t connected to the wall. The toilet even had that pull-chain that ran up the ceiling rather than the handle on the side. Harry felt like he had stepped inside a museum and smiled. It was small for the three of them. Snape stood in the door, Draco pushing against him to peer in. 

The water in the tub was an opaque green, filled with the fragrance of salts and herbs. It was filled to the brim, leaves floating on the top. Harry stared at it.

“You did that?”

“Who else would have done it?” he sneered. 

Harry sent him a grateful smile and pulled the t-shirt over his head. 

“I can see why Mauchery made a comment,” Snape said wryly. 

“Not my fault,” he said, sending a half-irritated glance at Draco, who grinned smugly.

“No, I can hardly imagine you doing that to yourself,” Snape replied. 

“You planning on staying?” he asked, tossing the shirt in the sink.

Snape gave him an assessing stare. “We are in a relationship, are we not?”

Harry figured this might be some odd Slytherin test of valor or whatnot and shrugged. “As long you know I’m dead-set on doing absolutely nothing but soak,” he said offhandedly, working the buttons of his quidditch trousers. 

“I’m believe you’ve made yourself abundantly clear.”

Harry was too tired to decipher Slytherin intrigue and toed off his cleats. That alone felt wonderful. He stripped out of the clingy pants, sitting on the toilet to peel off the socks.

“Merlin, Harry! What did you do to your legs?” Draco exclaimed, rushing in. 

Harry blinked and looked down. His shins and knees were inflamed with bruises, traveling in a range of impossible hues. Hermione had fixed his black eye and swollen jaw so Severus and Draco hadn’t really seen much of the damage.

“I couldn’t see the ground.”

“Why didn’t you get it healed?” Draco snapped, working his hands around the scrapes. “Idiot.”

Harry leaned back, fighting the limpness in his body. “I forgot. We had two teammates with broken arms and one with a dislocated shoulder. It wasn’t really anything.”

“Anything?” he repeated, brow furrowed. “Harry, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m always bleeding.”

“I’m serious!” Draco cried.

Snape, who had left, returned and handed Harry a canister of ointment, a grim expression on his face. Harry studied him, trying to decipher that look. Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry frowned. Ignoring the disdain for the moment, he started to apply the ointment, but Draco swiped it from his hands.

Harry sighed and allowed his legs to be prodded and smothered, hissing between his teeth when Draco was too insistent. 

When he finally slipped into the tub, it was with a wince and a sigh. He could see only a shadow of his body beneath the water. Salts pricked at the back of his legs and bum. His glasses fogged, and he handed them to Draco, who perched himself on the toilet lid, heels on the rung, elbows on knees, and chin in hand. Severus lowered himself to the floor, arranging himself in a comfortable manner against the doorframe, his feet braced against the base of the toilet.

Harry watched them disconcertedly. “You know you don’t have to stay with me.”

“As much as I would prefer finishing the load of paperwork you insufferable, idiotic brats force me to have the displeasure of reading,” Snape said. “I am suddenly of the mind that you would find some impossible way to injure yourself should you stay alone for any significant measure of time.”

“I just like having you both in the same room,” Draco mumbled. 

Harry was too exhausted to deal with Snape’s resentment and rested in the water. As the silence lengthened, no one feeling inclined to speak, Harry could feel his muscles relaxing. Maybe oozing would be a better word, he thought. The heat was wonderful, and the salts were serving to wear the strain from his thighs and back. He submerged himself, holding his breath. Relishing the feeling of his hair splayed around him, he allowed the heat to sting his face. When the burn in his lungs started, he pulled up, brushing the hair from his face. The water sloshed as he rose, thankfully not dumping on Snape.

“You need a haircut,” Draco said, pressing his fingers to his temple. “You look like a drowned cat.”

Harry flicked water at him half-heartedly. “If I dunked you, you’d probably look like a rat.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Draco said, pulling his hand away.

Harry grunted. 

Draco rested his cheek on his arms, watching Harry’s eyes drift shut. “Have you heard from the Margaret woman?” he said when he thought he was almost asleep. “I thought I saw her owl at breakfast.”

Eyes still closed, he nodded. “Pregnancy’s going well, but she’s not sure what to do with baby.”

“You impregnated someone?” Snape said, startled. 

“Someone got a lock of hair and polyjuiced himself to seduce this woman in Sussex.” He opened his eyes long enough to focus on his words. “The genes are technically mine so I’m paying the expenses. We’re hoping the child will survive.”

“You are aware that progeny from polyjuice trysts are usually born damaged.”

“I know,” he said somberly.

Severus nodded. “What happened to the man?”

“Azkaban,” he said casually. 

“And the person who gave him your hair?”

Harry made a weary motion that barely raised his shoulders. “I don’t even know how much they took. There are so many reports of me running off to…” he shrugged again, “that anyone could probably poise as me. As long as they don’t get arrested, we’ll never know.” He rested his head against the rim of his tub. “The whole debacle was in the _Prophet_. I’ll be lucky if there isn’t an army of mes running around England.”

Snape was silent a moment, aware of Draco watching him. “And you keep correspondence with this Margaret?” he said eventually.

“Kid’s mine.”

“The child is most definitely not yours,” Severus snapped. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said drowsily. “If it survives, I’ll care for it. Children deserve parents.”

“Do you want a family, Harry?” Draco asked softly before Severus could respond.

“Yeah,” he sighed, slipping into sleep. “If it’s safe. Though… don’t know how well… you know, I’d do.”

“Why’s that?”

But Harry was already asleep. He slipped into the water, and Severus jumped to grab him, soaking the sleeve of his robe.

“Merlin,” he sighed.

“We can’t leave him alone, can we?” Draco said, quietly delighted. 

Severus looked at the boy in the water. His head was tilted to the side, exposing the raw line of his neck and Draco’s passion marks. He was completely vulnerable, moving slightly as if he was still fighting sleep. Severus picked up a washcloth and continued cleaning him. Draco gave him a gentle smile, which Severus ignored for the sake of his sanity. 

Severus was finding Harry to be completely different than anything he imagined. Uncommonly patient and understanding. Even accepting this odd arrangement, he hadn’t fully conceded to being in a relationship. Though they spent time in his quarters, they hadn’t touched or talked much. He hadn’t really expected to be included with the two of them, but leaning awkwardly over the tub to keep Harry Potter afloat, he began to slowly accept the “we” of the three of them.

 

o.O.o

 

Harry and Ginny spent no more time with each other than they normally did, but they became suddenly hyper-aware that it was actually quite a lot. They ate most of their meals together. They spent the same Tuesday study hall at the same table in the lecture hall. Of course, they spent quidditch practice together, and sometimes they even shared opposite ends of the couch in Gryffindor commons. This had all used to seem so natural. Until of course, every time they occupied the same public space, the random gaggle of girls that frequented Harry’s personal space burst into excited giggles and other males started giving him some stupid secret guy-code smirk and hand gestures. 

Mauchery made an attempt in the common room to get them to kiss, rebuffed both by Ron, who really could do without watching his sister snog, and Ginny herself who none-too-kindly told him to get his wanking material somewhere else.

By the end of the week, Ginny and Harry were so sick of everyone else that they started avoiding each other, which led the school to think that they had gotten into a tiff. Harry was then accosted by twenty-two people, two of whom were teachers, trying to give him _helpful_ advice about women. (“Just apologize, even if isn’t your fault” “You two are so lovely. I’m sure you’ll work it out” “Just give her some space. Girls are like that.” “Have you tried chocolates?”) Ginny received the same sort of advice from fifty different people saying she needed to forgive him.

So Harry and Ginny were currently seated across from each other at the Gryffindor table, glaring into their breakfast, while everyone whispered that they must have gotten into another fight. The mail came, and as usual, about twenty birds wrestled for the space before Harry, nipping at each other impatiently. Harry spread the spell that would identify messages from the Weasleys and other people that he actually _knew_ without a thought, having performed it so often now that it was almost thoughtless. None of the letters glowed, though quite a few whose owners had written with less than savory thoughts in mind turned varying shades of red. Those were either angry letters or passion ones, neither of which he wanted to read. 

Ginny it seemed had also gotten a few letters, though they were lost in the chaos of Harry’s mail. The red envelopes grew impatient of waiting and burst into flames on the birds’ legs. There was an explosion of feathers, several students getting knocked and scratched by the frantic owls. Three different voices, all female, started screeching at once, the details of their message lost in the cacophony. After a few minutes, the letters ended, reduced to ashes amidst the ruined food, bird shit and feathers.

Ginny started down at it, then looked up across the table at Harry, whose mouth was still hanging open.

“I think we should break up,” she said into the silence of the Hall.

“Me too,” Harry said. 

“This just isn’t working out.”

“I agree.”

“I see you more as a friend.”

“Me too.”

“So we’re settled.”

They shook hands across the table, then started trying to banish the mess of the table in tandem, eventually aided by Ron and Hermione. Ginny turned to leave and made it to the door until Harry called out to her.

“Don’t forget we have quidditch practice tonight!”

“I won’t!” she shouted behind her, raising her hand.

Harry sat down, summoning a plate of sausage from further down the table. He speared it and looked up right into the gaze of a Hufflepuff.

“Yes?”

The Hufflepuff paled and turned away, as did the rest of the Hall. Harry snuck a glance at the head table. The teachers were all in varying states of shock, but only Severus Snape looked like he was struggling with amusement. His dark eyes flashed when he caught Harry’s. Harry looked down and bit into the sausage to hide his smile. He looked up through his fringe at Draco, whose expression was warring between indignation, worry, and smug glee. Only Draco could wear so many expressions and still make it look graceful, he thought, wondering if he could still get the names of the owners of those owls, if only for animal cruelty if not outright harassment. 

He pressed the tines of his fork against the roof of his mouth. A smile darkened his face. Those still watching him paled, shifting away nervously. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally threesome sex!!! (Little nervous to post this because, uh... graphic? But whatevs. I do what I want.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because you beautiful readers added so many kudos i'm updating early
> 
> And thank you, dear person, who commented several times. ;) That was awesome.

He turned the page. Harry would only admit under duress that he had a soft spot for Charles Dickens. Having flipped through _A Tale of Two Cities_ while hiding from Dudley in the library (second only to the top of hills in terms of safety), the first line had struck him. 

 

One big run-on sentence that sounded so ridiculously obtuse that Harry, at the age of nine, had questioned the scrutiny of publishing companies. But he continued reading. An hour later, he was still ensconced in a supply closet with a blinking light.

 

Harry still didn’t really like reading. For a while, he even forgot about the book he had pilfered from the library. But whenever he returned to hide, he would pick it up again. 

 

So far, Harry had read only _A Tale of Two Cities_ and _A Christmas Carol_. He didn’t like reading in front of others. He felt like he could feel people staring at him. He’d been on the same chapter of _Oliver Twist_ for three months. Only in the hours he could spare after slinking into an unused classroom did he feel comfortable enough to bend the front cover. 

 

He’d recently gotten quite attached to Hemingway as well, having found _Old Man and the Sea_ in a pile of school books that Dudley had shoved into his room unread two years ago. Between chores, he had no time to indulge in it, certainly not when he had to find the time to do homework as well. But the Dursleys sometimes willfully forgot his existence. It was enough to finish a few flimsy books. 

 

Its grace was austere. Simple writing and simple despair. It reminded him a bit of Severus actually, though it wasn’t a completely pleasant comparison. He placated himself by reminding himself that Severus wasn’t a very pleasant person anyway. How people could work so hard for something and come home empty-handed, he found life often cruel in little ways, in simple ways, like being unloved or abandoned. 

 

Harry turned the page, following the old man into salt. 

 

Though he didn’t usually like to read in front of others, he had taken a chance tonight. He was sitting in Severus’ study at the end of the couch. Draco was at the other end, doing homework on the coffee table, and Severus was grading papers at his desk. Harry hadn’t wanted to sit there doing nothing, mostly because he knew Draco, if not Severus, would feel the need to entertain him. He had nothing due tomorrow and, rather than debase principle and start something early, had grabbed the book. 

 

It had taken a bit to get comfortable, shooting furtive glances at his companions, who were immersed in work. Finally, he relented surveillance. Now, he was curled up tightly, his legs beneath him and his shoes and socks off, as he sometimes massaged his feet while he read. His elbow was propped up on the arm, the weight of the novel cramping his hand. Every once and a while, he’d shift position, but he would always return to this.

 

He didn’t notice an hour later when Severus glanced up at him between papers. There wasn’t anything particularly stunning in his reading, nothing like the dark challenge in his stare.

 

He shifted, bracing his back on the arm of the sofa and resting the book on his thighs. He rolled his ankle, exposing the rare sunless milky tea hue of skin there. Severus set aside his quill. Slowly, he strode across the room, boots soft on carpet, and pulled the book from Harry’s lap. 

 

The boy blinked, looking up. In no time at all, he read the look in Severus’ eye. His fingers curled empty in his lap, quickly and easily breathless. With a smirk, Severus kissed him. Harry’s hand went into his hair instantly, at the space below his ear. Before he could control it, Severus shivered. Harry smiled proudly in his mouth. 

 

Their tongues were slow, commenced in a nimble dance that sparked the marrow in his bones. Harry’s knees straightened, and Severus pressed closer, sliding his hand across the space between his back and the couch. Heat pooled low.

 

Deftly, Severus found the rim of his trousers. They were loose, only the belt keeping them up, and Severus wondered if Harry ever bought clothes his own size. Long, cool-tipped fingers slipped down, touching the hollow right above his cleft. Harry gave a gasp, breaking from his mouth. They stared at each other. 

 

Not for the first time, Severus wondered how this was going to work. They were so different, and admittedly, the same in ways that both of them found frustrating. Severus didn’t understand what Potter could possibly want from him. 

 

But Harry didn’t contemplate his misgivings long. Like usual, he rushed in headlong, satisfied with his choices without thinking. With an apologetic smile, he reached back up, and threaded his arms around Severus’ neck. He returned to the kiss without relinquish or conquer. 

 

They had Draco’s attention now. Harry’s feet touched his leg, and Draco’s eyes drew up daftly charming ankles, sprinkled with dark hair and svelte as a roan’s. Draco had never particularly noticed his legs before and something fizzled with bright delight in his brain. 

 

Severus slid his fingers back and forth through Harry’s cleft with no other intent but torment. Harry gave a grunt, moving his feet away from his thigh to thrust his pelvis, and Draco abandoned voyeurism.

 

Unbuttoning his shirt, Draco saw a chance and took it. He crawled behind Severus. Harry had forsaken kissing, bowing and arching his body in a confusing mix of sensations. Severus was unused to the motion. Harry was terribly inconsiderate when pleasured and almost broke Severus’ balance several times before Draco steadied him. A long, animal grunt escaped Harry’s teeth, going straight to Severus’ groin.

 

“Slow down, idiot,” Draco chuckled at him.

 

Harry responded by fisting Severus’ robes, making incoherent curses and insults. He however calmed enough to thrust in rhythm, brushing his dick against Severus’ stomach, head thrown to the side.

 

“Are you coming in your trousers like an inept child, Harry?” Severus whispered.

 

Harry shuddered at the presence of his breath in his ear and glared at him. 

 

He licked his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Going slow, old man?”

 

Draco made a sudden, quickly aborted laugh behind him. 

 

Severus pressed his finger around his anus, and Harry stiffened so quickly that he choked in his spit. He gave a full-body shudder and bit through his gnawed lip. His muscles clenched and slid as if unsure, but the pressure of his fingers in Severus’ robes demanded more. Severus moved over him and latched onto his neck, pulling the flesh with his teeth. 

 

“Sev’rus,”Harry panted, voice heavy and guttural. “Bedroom.” 

 

Severus made no acknowledgement that he had heard him, hands traveling over the globes of his arse. Draco pressed his tongue against his teeth, glancing at the door, though his prick hurt. 

 

Harry opened his eyes a slit, as if he knew Draco’s feelings. He gathered himself with effort. 

 

“Severus. Let’s be three the first time. Yeah? He’s-” he moaned, throwing his thighs around Severus’ waist. “Fuck. G-g-” He closed his mouth again with tight restraint. 

 

Severus leaned up to watch him. Harry’s face was flushed red and heavy-lipped, blood welling from his split, chapped lip. 

 

“You’ve been waiting on me, haven’t you?” Harry said breathlessly. “You’ve kissed him, haven’t you? But you were waiting for me. I want both of you,” he said impatiently, reaching for him. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

 

Draco’s heart was in his throat, watching the two of them. With a growl, Severus grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him to the door. Draco hurried to throw it open just before Severus threw him on the bed. 

 

Harry rolled over and, rather than affronted, surprised them both by looking rather excited. Severus climbed atop him and with a quick (if somewhat slutty) slicking spell pushed in his finger. Harry cursed, flinging his head back and scuttling away. Severus was watching Harry’s prick jump and leak with an almost hungry expression.

 

Draco, the front of his trousers damp with precum, kicked off his shoes and crawled behind him. He could tell that Harry was making an effort not to throw Severus off. His feet twitched with the urge to kick him, barely restrained. There was only a tiny space of difference between Harry’s pained-but-pleasured expression and just his pained one. 

 

Harry had never liked prolonging his pleasure. When he tormented Draco, he finished without reciprocation. But he’d never bottomed for a prick. Severus _had_ to go slow. Harry was so simple-minded. He didn’t like controlling his reactions.

 

Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket and transfigured a cord. It wrapped in loose coils around Harry’s right wrist and reached across him to take the other. With a jerk, it dragged Harry’s hands above his head and tied them to the bedpost. Harry’s eyes flew open in surprise, and even Severus was looking at him in shock. Draco smiled, resting his wand on the covers. He reached down and caressed Harry’s face. 

 

“Better?”

 

Harry tested the bonds, finding enough slack to slip his hands out if he so wanted. The white cotton moved across his wrists, warm and soft. He lied back across the sheets, hesitantly relaxing his thighs around Severus’ hand. When nothing else happened, he relaxed more. He took a heady breath and nodded.

 

Severus lifted a brow at Draco.

 

“If you require restraints to lie with me…” he started.

 

Harry’s opened his eyes in a blaze. He wrapped his legs around Severus’ thighs and glared at him with a ferocity reserved for forest fires.

 

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll fucking fuck you.”

 

Draco gave Severus a smirk. Severus gave Harry a dark look. He lifted the leg around his calf and raised it to his shoulder. Watching Harry’s eyes, he pushed two wet fingers into his arse and gave them an expert twist. Harry arched, fingers scrambling to find purchase in the cords. Relentless, Severus pressed further, bending Harry’s knee, all the time watching Harry’s face with a strange intensity that Draco had thought he used only with experimental potions. Harry thrashed, and Severus’ grip on his knee was the only thing that kept his leg in place. 

 

Harry released another string of curses. Draco laughed and fastened his mouth on one of his nipples, his hand tapping soothingly on his own erection.

 

“That hurts,” he said suddenly, and it took a moment for Draco to realize that Severus had added a third finger.

 

He laid his face along Harry’s hip, close to his jumping prick. “Relax,” he hummed.

 

“I’m not giving birth,” Harry snarled before falling back on the bed. 

 

Draco exchanged a glance with Severus and retrieved his wand. A wordless lubrication spell slicked the inside of Harry’s arse, making him jump.

 

“That’s fucking cold!” he shouted.

 

Draco smiled. “It’ll warm in a second.”

 

Harry glared at him. The sensation was weird and disgusting. He could feel himself leaking, and he automatically tried to draw his thighs together to cover himself.

 

Severus parted them, and Harry flushed. Shame only made the heat in his stomach coil denser. 

 

Already, the lube had pleasantly heated, sending tendrils of pleasure through his pelvis. Harry’s leg still on his shoulder, Severus crawled forward, slipping his cock out of his loosened trousers at the same time. Harry’s lower half was braced on his thighs, the hot tip of his prick nudging the throbbing region of his anus. Eyes like oil spills, he gave a sly smile over Harry’s face. Panting and exposed, he waited, but Severus only stared back.

 

He glared and closed his eyes. Then, he wiggled his bottom. The wet head brushed against the opening, and Severus suddenly shuddered, using the hand not keeping them balanced to push against Harry’s shoulder. Draco mouthed the shell of his ear. With almost violent effort, Harry forced himself to open, pushing his abdomen. Severus thrust forward.

 

_Fuck! It fucking hurt!_

 

He hung onto the cords. Draco cooed in his ear, stroking him like a startled hound, and he grit his teeth. 

 

Not knowing what else to do, he snarled, “Move.”

 

Severus gave a tense snort and angled his hips. The movement was slow, as careful as when he diced ingredients. The throbbing escalated, but the pressure seemed to ease so that he didn’t feel strung on a pike. After a few more thrusts, he had gotten used to both the weight and the intrusion, able to breathe. He still wouldn't call it satisfying though. 

 

Severus pulled back, rolled his hips and found it. 

 

Harry wasn’t expecting the sudden blow of pleasure, like someone had just broken him and jumpstarted all his nerves all at once. He arched his back awkwardly, screaming. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” he panted.

 

“Your prostate,” Severus said, voice tight as he moved to hit it again. 

 

Harry was more prepared this time and didn’t cry out, though he writhed, tugging on the bonds. Draco was smiling beside him, stroking his exposed prick with a touch too flimsy - the contradictory presence of Severus’ hard prick and his light hold making him twist.

 

“I was beginning to wonder if you had one,” Severus said, smirking.

 

Harry turned away from Draco’s lazy eyes, though unable to ignore his teasing fingers, and met Severus’ straining ones. “Do it again,” he huffed, eyes gleaming. “Do it a lot.”

 

His thighs locked and his ankles turned.

 

Severus smiled, a rare thing that might have well have been some foreign exotic tongue. “I plan to,” he said and he began to move in earnest.

 

Harry was too tight to lose control in. Severus could feel it and kept only the tip of his erection inside him. He’d been with seasoned whores, men in their late-twenties and thirties who liked sex a little rough. It had been a long time since Severus had to restrain himself.

 

Harry trusted him though. Severus had doubts when he’d accepted the cords, but it was obvious. He used them to brace himself, controlling his wild movements. It was like bedding a wildcat, trying to rhyme his thrusts. Harry jumped and kicked and jerked, making a guttered scream only when Severus found his prostate. Severus would have hated to fight to kept him down, even if he were the type to enjoy that type of foreplay. 

 

Finally, Harry’s twining legs encircled him, crossing his ankles over his buttocks, allowing Severus to settled into a rhythm. 

 

Draco chuckled and pecked him on the cheek. His hand clasped between their bodies. He tighten his hold, pressing into that spot he knew Harry liked so much.

 

Harry came as simply as that, with no warning, eyes rolling in the back of his skull as he somehow managed to lock in his voice. Severus felt him clench and almost came before Draco pushed him backwards. He startled, leaking cum as he left Harry’s sphincter. Severus had missed Draco’s preparation, focusing too intently on Harry, but the blond angled and slid atop him marvelously, taking the full length with small circular thrusts like Harry couldn’t. 

 

Severus gasped, blissfully ignoring how Draco had knocked his head against the edge of the bed frame. He gave a final, hard thrust and came. Draco sighed and waited a moment before rolling off of him, leaving with a squelch. He was still hard and moved to take himself in hand when Harry shouted. 

 

“Hey! What did I tell you?”

 

Draco actually blushed before he managed a cattish grin. Harry was still tied and Severus wondered if he had forgotten that the ropes were escapable. He watched Draco crawl over to him and kneel almost shyly over his chest. Harry glared at him, managing to look completely controlled even post-orgasm and with Draco’s cock in his face. 

 

Severus’ breath caught as he watched Harry open his mouth. Draco bowed his head, hands braced on the bed frame. Somehow, it looked like a benediction. Harry, debauched and fucked as he was, had an air of imperialism. Draco looked obscenely exposed atop him, muscles bunched, subject to Harry’s will as he carefully guided his cock in his mouth.Harry watched Draco’s face closely as he closed his lips and sucked. Draco gasped but didn’t move as Harry began to mercilessly fellate him, his grip turning white-knuckled on the headboard. Harry abruptly loosed his hand and grabbed Draco’s buttock, working his fingers between his cheeks and teasing the cum leaking from his anus. 

 

Draco choked and came. Severus has no idea how Harry learned to deep swallow, or do that without choking. Cum dribbling down his chin. He looked fierce and triumphant, and Severus was too old for his knees to feel this weak. 

 

Harry smiled, as pleasantly and brightly as if he weren’t covered in semen. Draco returned it softly. But when the blond closed his eyes and tried to regain his breath, Harry looked at Severus.

 

The brightness went shallow but what replaced it was warm, _thrilling_ , and just as inviting. Severus didn’t have anything to say. He was suddenly so incredibly thankful that Harry had let him be here. It felt incredibly strange that the three of them were there and that this performance was expected to be repeated.

 

Certainly strange but not unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell when what you think if you want to!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much smexy times in here. A little bit more plot but still not there yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who kudos'd and commented! :)

Harry stormed down the hall in a right rage. He felt the fizzle of magic on his fingertips, and stifled the flow, pressing against the energy like a rubber skin. He knew that he should calm down before approaching Minerva, but he was passed the point of caring whether or not he was terrifying. Or insolent.

 

He rapped the sleeping gargoyle on the head. “I need to speak with her.”

 

The gargoyle looked at him drowsily, and though it appeared like he did nothing, he knew a small alarm had gone off in her office. He tried not to fidget. 

 

He had just come from three fights. All different people. All of them older years picking on Slytherins. Harry had had enough. Five people were now hanging upside from the rafters, another two were fighting off vines ensnaring them to the columns, and six were struggling to remove themselves from the pit of tar Harry had lain in the floor. Harry didn’t often push much power into his spells. They shocked better than they endured. But he had decided to forgo measured control. Professor Sprout might be able to sever the vines and Flitwick might be able to charm the students down from the rafters, but it would take them at least a couple of hours. 

 

The stairs moved, and Harry strode inside, too impatient to ride them. He knew if he knocked he was just going to sound obnoxious anyway so he barreled through the door without waiting for permission.

 

“Harry!” McGonagall exclaimed, rising from her desk. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

 

“This school is a joke.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” she sputtered.

 

He leaned over her desk. “This school is a bloody joke,” he said again more slowly. “I just stopped three fights in the halls, all of them targeting Slytherins.”

 

“I’ll remind you that this is my office, Mr. Potter,” she said, glaring. “You will not use that tone.”

 

“Maybe I’ll give you the proper respect when you start doing your job.”

 

“Detention, Potter!” she said, standing. Her yellowing eyes were shocked, as if seeing him for the first time. “How dare you-”

 

“How dare I?” he challenged, unbothered, as he had never been before, by authority in her gaze. “Why haven’t you done anything? This has been going on since school started, and you’ve been ignoring it.”

 

“I have ignored nothing,” she said, straightened. She had gathered herself, turning Harry into another indignant student and not a comrade of war. “I have no reason to explain myself to you, Mr. Potter, even if you assume I do.”

 

The words found their intended target but it was nothing but a glancing blow. He was more hurt by her effort to corral him than the dig at his pride.

 

“Bollucks,” Harry snarled, stepping away from her desk. “Your students are being harassed, and you’re not doing anything about it.”

 

“And I suppose all those years you and Mr. Malfoy were at each other’s throats was just for jollies,” she responded, gazing down at him from high cheekbones.

 

Harry inhaled. “This is not about me and Malfoy! They are _lynching_ them, Minerva. They were hanging an eleven-year-old over the top of the moving stairs.”

 

“The charm on the stairs-”

 

“Do you think he knew that?” he interrupted again, begging her to understand and not a little confused about why she didn’t. “He was scared out of his wits. He thought he was going to die.”

 

She shook her head. He knew before she spoke that whatever left her mouth would just be platitudes. What was _needed_ wasn’t investigation, weren’t words to soften the face of parents and students who would throw more of a tantrum over slapped wrists than a boy hanging upside down over a banister. 

 

He was already shaking his head before she finished, another show of disrespect that had her nostrils flaring. Harry met her gaze. He wasn’t her student. Not anymore. And she only just remembered. 

 

“You still have detention for the disrespect, Mr. Potter, but I will take what you said into consideration.”

 

He didn’t want her consideration, but he didn’t tell her that. It took him a moment to understand that the feeling in his chest was disappointment. 

 

“I’ll do something even if you don’t.”

 

“Is that a threat, Mr. Potter?”

 

“If threatening you would work I would do it,” he said with a cold look, hurt that he even had to say that. “I don’t make _threats_ , Headmistress. But I stood up to Voldemort and I stood up to the Minister. I can stand up to you too, and I can stand up to the rest of the school as well. 

 

“This is wrong,” he said, watching her. “And you don’t care enough to do anything, if you cared at all,” he said, and that at least made her flinch.

 

Having won nothing, he walked out, careful to close the door as if his emotions weren’t rolling in his gut. He waited until he was much further down the hall to exhale.

 

He might have convinced everyone that he had some hidden power, but he knew the truth. He could only hope that this was not another fight that required him to lie in front of an enemy’s wand. He didn't know if he could survive another martyrdom.

 

o.O.o

 

Draco was sitting at the Gryffindor table that Sunday, three days after Harry had spoken with McGonagall. He was talking to Hermione about a recent article in a potion’s journal. Something about blood purity that had Hermione fascinated rather than affronted. 

 

Though he was in the middle of animated conversation, his leg was currently running up and down Harry’s beneath the table. Ron was sitting beside him, twitching whenever they accidentally brushed against him but bearing it like the best friend in the whole world. Harry swore to buy him a broom for that. When the mail came, Harry scooted back, disentangling their feet. Draco looked at him, guilt on his face as he’d done something wrong, but Harry smiled at him and watched as three birds disengaged from the parliament and landed before Ginny.

 

“Harry,” she said, interrupted in her conversation with Pavarti. “What are these?” 

 

“Why are you asking me?”

 

She stared at him, trying to judge his expression, and Harry looked back as innocently as possible. After a few spells, Ginny untied the letters. Wrinkling her brow, she tore the first and read. Slowly, her mouth started to fall open. She snatched up another and skimmed it, finding mostly the same on the third.

 

“What did you do?” she asked him in a high, startled voice.

 

Harry held out his hand, asking for the letter, as if he didn’t know perfectly well what was written there. She gave him an unimpressed look and handed it over, allowing Hermione to inspect another.

 

“They’re apologies,” the girl said, surprised.

 

“What did you do to them?” Ginny asked again.

 

It was rather impossible for Harry to even pretend to be astonished, but he finished his pretend reading and asked, “Why do you think I did anything?”

 

Ginny was unamused.

 

“Merlin, Harry, you didn’t kill anything did you?” Ron asked, shoveling the eggs around his plate. 

 

Harry frowned, this time looking (somewhat) genuinely insulted. “I don’t think Golden Boys go around killing small animals.”

 

Ron gave him a bug-eyed look, mouth gaping to reveal his food. “Blimey, you killed someone’s pet.”

 

“I did not!” he huffed. He flicked his hand casually in a manner that he must have picked up from Draco. “I _might_ have tracked their signatures and I _might_ have had a few words with them, not threatening in the least,” he added, unpleasantly reminded of his conversation with McGonagall. He looked up and found her watching him, an unpleased look about her face. “But of course I _didn’t_ because leaving school grounds without permission is against the rules.”

 

“Yes, and you wouldn’t _dream_ of breaking the rules now would you?” Hermione said sardonically, breaking his attention from Minerva. 

 

He shrugged, finding no reason to defend himself.

 

Draco looked like he wanted to vault across the table and kiss him. He barely kept his seat, eyes shining like two five-pence. Merlin, how the hell did a look say “fuck me” so bloody loudly? 

 

The birds were leaving, and Harry suddenly realized that he hadn’t gotten any letters. The faces around him revealed much the same bemused apprehension. 

 

“I guess they finally figured out to adjust the wards,” Ron mumbled.

 

Harry set down his utensils, watching the windows. Something didn’t feel right.

 

Sure enough, in the now empty air, a single bird made its way through the hall. Only a few students watched the latecomer until it landed with four balanced flaps in front of Harry’s plate. Settling itself, it held out its leg, a bored expression in its face. 

 

Harry stared at it. It had no distinguishing marks, and either he or Draco would have sensed Dark magic already. Beyond the strangeness of the situation, there was nothing that shouted danger and he could think of no reason not to pull the string, allowing it to drop to the table. The bird ruffled its feathers and after a quick preening flew off. 

 

“Harry, I don’t think you should…” Hermione trailed off.

 

No matter how much they stared at it, it remained nothing more than a crisp envelope. Fighting an itch on his shoulders ( _I’m just paranoid_ ), he ran the usual tests on his fan mail. The emphatic spell turned faintly pink, rolling into shades of the color until he cut off the spell.

 

“Harry,” Hermione said again. 

 

He snatched it away from her stretching hand, glaring at her for the attempt. She glared right back.

 

“You don’t know what that is.”

 

“It’s a letter,” he said, feeling no notable difference in weight. The more he thought about it, the more he felt stupid. 

 

“Harry, don’t be daft,” Draco said, his voice just a tad higher than normal. 

 

It was probably just a normal letter. Maybe from the Ministry. For all he knew it could be from Oliver Wood or Cho, expressing some small grievance that he’d forgotten. 

 

“Harry,” Hermione said in her warning tone, the one that said she knew exactly what was about to happen and was going to cuff his ears for it.

 

He ignored her. He wrapped a ward around his hand, pulling up the wax. Someone across from him hissed. There was only a single folded piece of parchment.

 

**_TRAITOR!_ **

 

The burning bubbled against the ward, streaking through in slivers of fire. He dropped the paper, ironed and white as it had been upon arrival, but already his hand had burst into flames, his magic eating the spell only a pace slower than the fire. 

 

A few people screamed. Hermione, clever witch that she was, already had her hand soaked in the jar of murlap that she kept everywhere she went, along with a bezoar (lessons learned). She grabbed Harry by the wrist and spread the mixture lucratively. The fire sizzled, spitting, waiting to burn through that too.

 

“It’s not a deterrent,” she said tersely, grappling him up. “We need to get to the infirmary.”

 

Harry did not respond, concentrating on fixing another ward beneath the burning. Once it ate through the murlap, it would have to fight through another layer of magic to get to flesh. He wondered what curse they could have missed?

 

“… deserved it,” a Ravenclaw muttered at his back.

 

“What did you say?” Ron demanded. 

 

Harry dithered, making Hermione hiss, snatching at his sleeve like an angry cat.

 

“I said he deserved it!” the Ravenclaw said, standing. “Defending scum like the snakes!” He gave a potent stare to Draco, who had started shielding the letter to carry for investigation later.

 

He didn’t have time to deal with this. He followed Hermione down the aisle.

 

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the student shouted at his back.

 

More than one voice reacted, after all Harry’s hand had just burst into flames. Obviously, he needed medical attention.

 

“I don’t talk to idiots,” he said over his shoulder, not keeping fast enough for Hermione’s tastes. 

 

“Coward!” the student shouted.

 

Harry didn’t even bother responding. He made it to the door when the Ravenclaw shouted again.

 

“Just like a little snake. Hanging around them so much, you must have turned into a coward and a bully too.”

 

Harry stopped.

 

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione hissed, her nails digging into his arm.

 

He turned around. “What do you know about being brave?” he said, voice low and intent.His hand popped and hissed.

 

“You think you’re a hero,” Ravenclaw said, gaining momentum. “But where were you during the war? Where were you when _we_ were being _tortured_ by your precious snakes?”

 

Ron started to stand, turning red, “Where was he...” he whispered, speechless. 

 

Harry didn’t hear him. He felt his breath hasten, something cold crawling into his eyelids. “The Slytherins aren’t my anything. They are their own. Do you think I’ll stand aside and let you assume righteousness?” he said, bowling over the boy’s words. Without realizing it, he had stalked forward. “Do you think I’ll stand by and let you torture them just because your own bloody pride’s been damaged?”

 

“You have no idea what...” the boy started, breathing hard as he looked away. “Those _monsters_ did.”

 

“You have no idea what I’ve done.”

 

The words came from a deep place, one he liked to pretend didn’t exist. He’d killed a professor when he was eleven. He’d faced a basilisk. For long moments of a lifetime, he’d been Voldemort. 

 

His hand caught on fire, but the ward kept his flesh from being immediately singed. It still blistered but was ignorable. 

 

“Do you even know _who_ hurt you?” he dared. “Or do you just call them Slytherins and be done with it? They have _names_. Or do you think they should be labeled like muggleborns were? Have you given yourself a name yet?” He eyed him in disgust. “Death Eater’s been taken but I’m sure you can come up with something.”

 

The boy flinched. “We’re nothing like them!”

 

“You’re a child. Do you think being angry makes you into an adult? They’ve been through the hell just the same as the rest of us. And you have the nerve to preach about betrayal to me? Draco was never half the bully you are.”

 

The student stared back at him, disarmed.

 

He turned back to the doors. Hermione was staring at him, her eyes on his face rather than his hand. He didn’t know what he looked like to her, but he didn’t enjoy it. Finally, she snapped out of it. With a curse she would deny later, she took hold of his sleeve again and bolted out of the hall.

 

He hated mail.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lot of talking concerning Harry and how he deals with pain
> 
> (brief mention of suicidal tendencies and self harm only in conversation - not performed by any character)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who kudos'd and commented! It really makes my day. :)

“You’ll have to soak it in that solution all night. Honestly, what were you thinking picking a fight at a time like this?” Poppy hissed at him as she dunked his hand in an opaque milky solution.

 

“I wasn’t picking a fight,” Harry retorted sullenly. “I didn’t even go for my wand.”

 

She sniffed. “Most likely because your hand was on fire.”

 

“It wasn’t at the time!”

 

He collapsed onto the bed, wheeling the cart that carried the bowl closer to him. 

 

“Of all the stupid things to do,” Poppy muttered, wiping her hands on her apron. “Actually waiting for it to catch on fire.”

 

He flicked her a defiant look. “It’s not like I wanted to be a matchstick. They targeted me because I took a stand for the Slytherins. And I shielded it. Watching me cry over it would only escalate the problem.”

 

“No,” she sang, not looking at him, making his eye twitch. “Heaven forbid you make a fuss over anything. Even when you’re on fire.”

 

“It’s not even third degree!” he glared at her, curling his lip. “I get worse burns than this cooking breakfast.”

 

“Mr. Potter,” she said, giving him a shrewd look. “Unless you happen to cook your bacon with your bare hands, I don’t see how you could possibly make such a claim. Maybe you should have a supervisor while in the kitchen,” she said, half seriously, completely rolling over his protest.

 

He snapped his mouth shut. She walked away, a small smirk playing the corners of her lips. He sulked, muttering curse words beneath his breath.

 

“Detention, Mr. Potter.”

 

He jumped, finding Severus in the doorway. 

 

Draco, Ron, and Hermione were already in the infirmary, watching Harry argue with the matron. Draco sent Severus a distressed look, like a boat lost at sea finding salvation on a previously empty horizon. Harry stretched his fingers to relieve the spike of apprehension.

 

Hermione grabbed his wrist with none of the professional disinterest of Madam Pomfrey. “Don’t move,” she ordered viciously. “They’ll start to scar.”

 

“I doubt Mr. Potter needs another scar,” Severus said scathingly, sweeping into the room. “Though perhaps he merely favors pain.”

 

Harry flushed and glared at him. 

 

“Thank you, Severus,” Poppy said, floating the potions that trailed behind him into her medicine cabinet with her wand. 

 

Harry recognized the sleeping draught and fixed her with a sickening smile.

 

“Not thinking of knocking me out are you, Madam Pomfrey?”

 

“Merlin forbid I should do myself the favor,” she muttered waspishly, not turning around. 

 

She disappeared into her office, not doubt to update the charts, and leaving the five of them alone. Ron and Hermione squirmed relentlessly, all of a sudden aware of the dangerous feeling in the air. Severus said nothing.

 

“Hermione,” Harry said diplomatically. “You have to admit I can’t do my homework like this,” he said, gesturing to his submerged hand. 

 

She frowned at him. She opened her mouth, no doubt to gave a myriad of spells that could take notes for him. 

 

“Oh, leave off, ‘Mione,” Ron said blithely, touching her shoulder. “It’s only one day.”

 

Thankfully, she surrendered, though not without provision.

 

“I want that new journal on blood purity,” she said, gathering the books she had taken from the dorm for class. “And new tips for my quills,” she added, daring him to argue.

 

“Done,” he said tactfully. “I’ll even buy a box of ginger snaps.”

 

Her lip twitched but she nodded, ignoring the subtle dig. She made for the door, prepared to only be a few minutes late to her first class.

 

“Hey, mate,” Ron started.

 

Harry used his free hand to wave him off. “Of course. I don’t think I could have convinced her without you.”

 

Ron smiled, clapping him on the back. He gave Severus a confused glance but ran out after his girlfriend anyway. Harry really did love that boy. 

 

“I didn’t know Gryffindors haggled,” Draco murmured, moving to sit beside him.

 

“Slytherins don’t have a patent on trade,” he responded, as usual, finding Draco’s estimates of his house amusingly lacking. He’d chosen the side with his wounded hand and sat almost without touching him, which was odd. Severus lingered like a stubborn cloud of smoke, staring at the wall. Harry studied Draco, the silence not so unbearable but still faintly tense with the unsaid.

 

Finally, impatient Draco sighed. “Did you mean what you said?”

 

“Which part?” Harry said, frowning. Honestly, he could only really remember being angry and not so much the exact words that had come out of his mouth.

 

Draco gave him a frustrated frown. “About Slytherins. About _me_ ,” he said, getting to the root of the matter. Draco glared at him. “I bullied you.”

 

Harry laughed. He didn’t mean to, but it came out anyway. Sometimes, he found Draco too adorable.

 

“We were kids. And I spent half my time trying to get you into trouble. Did I ever tell I polyjuiced myself into Crabbe and followed you into the Slytherin commons to ask you whether you were the Heir to Slytherin?”

 

Eyes wide, Draco shook his head. 

 

“I did.” Slowly, he stopped smiling. Gently, he slid his hand towards Draco’s shirt, moving where he knew the scars were. “I cut you open on a bathroom floor. When the worst you ever did to me was shrink Hermione’s teeth.”

 

“After I tried to kill you,” Draco muttered, looking away. 

 

Harry smiled and took up his hand. “It’s in the past. I don’t care about it.”

 

Draco shook his head. “How can you say that?” he whispered. “How can you not care?”

 

Harry shrugged. “I just don’t.”

 

Draco glared, refusing to look at him. Harry sighed, releasing his hand.

 

“Maybe it’s because I’m used to people trying to kill me.”

 

“That’s not a good reason!” Draco yelled at him, snapping around to accuse him with stark, silver eyes. 

 

Harry, given the chance, pecked his lips. Draco twitched, leaning away. The glassy look in her eyes yielded to confusion, always wary that he was being made the fool. 

 

“Do you want me to hate you?”

 

“No,” he admitted sullenly. 

 

Harry leaned back. “You act like you had a reason to treat me then like you do now. But we weren’t friends, Draco. We couldn’t even be acquaintances back then,” he said darkly. He looked at him. “I don’t believe that you felt guilty for all you did back then. I don’t. We’ve just both changed. And I think it’s stupid that other people can’t acknowledge that.” He thought of McGonagall and Goodchild and that idiot Templeton in the Great Hall and all the others losing so much because they were blinded by the past. 

 

“You’re greedy,” Draco said in astonishment.

 

Harry blinked and faced him. “If you mean I don’t release the things I have, yes.” That was something he discovered when he accepted Ron back time and again. 

 

Things changed, but Harry didn’t think he could ever acknowledge that the things he held once did not belong to him. Death took too much already.

 

He frowned, an unpleasant thought ringing in his ears. “You don’t think you can leave me, do you?”

 

Draco gave another startled look, like a stick had just turned into a snake. Harry’s eyes narrowed, and it was all he could do to sit still and not grab his hand. Eventually, Draco shook his head, his wary expression turning into something cat-like and pleased. Harry suspected he’d get the mickey teased out of him for that revelation, but he didn’t much mind. He relaxed, no longer tense and ready to jump from the bed. As if he’d need to block the exits.

 

Stupid.

 

Draco peered into the solution, confident and comfortable once more. Harry allowed his gaze to move from him to his other lover. Severus was staring at him, face blank but stern. Harry didn’t know what he was thinking at all. He felt the edge of a cliff between them and had no clue how to broach it. 

 

“What?” he finally croaked.

 

If anything, Severus’ face seemed to go colder. He turned away. 

 

“I should have realized that your suicidal tendencies had not diminished even with the end of the war.”

 

“Now, wait a minute-” Harry started.

 

Severus gave him a single, furious glare, stripping the words from him a moment. With effort, he calmed himself, knowing emotional responses would yield him no ground with the man. This was going to be like pulling thorns. 

 

“Yes, I was irrational,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have opened the letter, and I shouldn’t have let Templeton goad me.”

 

“And yet you did,” Severus said, cool and dry.

 

Harry held back a wince with practice. “I was wrong.”

 

Severus was silent, but Harry could tell he was coming up short, so used to feeding off tensions. Calm acquiescence was as indigestible to him as stone. Harry stared back with eyes full of banked fire. Eventually, Severus sniffed.

 

“Foolish. Reckless. Nothing about you has changed.”

 

Hackles rising, Harry could not let that one pass. “Plenty has changed, Severus. No, I am not rational like you,” he said before Severus could interrupt him. “I still hope that one day I don’t have to be afraid of my own post.”

 

“ _Stupid_ ,” Severus snarled, grabbing hold of either end of the cart between them. “It is foolish to wish for such a thing. You’ll always get burned.” He flicked his hand towards the burn scattered along his knuckles, visible through the pool, contemptuously. “Accept your situation.”

 

Harry knew that Severus would extend him no sympathy. Still, he had expected some resentment from that fact. He found none in himself. Only the resolve to fight for himself. The same resolve he had to catch the snitch. 

 

He took a moment, stepped back from the situation, and could suddenly see how he’d scared him. The man who had always tried to protect him even when he hated him.

 

He took a deep breath. The truth was, he didn’t want to believe that it would always be like this. There will always be fanmail and death threats mixed in with the messages from his friends. He would always be in the public’s eye. He would never have the simplicity in life that he craved. 

 

But he’d done worse things, harder things. He’d buried Neville. He’d watched his godfather and his headmaster die. And he was stupid and weak to cling to a world that didn’t exist, as foolish as clinging to the dead.

 

Severus wasn’t saying it was easy. He was saying that it was necessary. And he wasn’t a child to curse his fate anymore.

 

“I’ll try,” he said, running a hand through his hair and looking away.

 

Severus snorted quietly, upset (rightfully so), not believing him. Words were weak in the face of action then. 

 

“I think you’ve proven that you can’t be trusted with your own life,” Severus said without forgiveness.

 

Unexpectedly, Harry snorted. Severus’ stare hardened, and he quickly backpedaled.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “It’s not because it’s funny. I wasn’t laughing at you.” His voice fell. For no reason he could fathom, he thought suddenly of Dumbledore.

 

He face swam so clearly before him, the portrait in McGonagall’s office. He didn’t know why that one persisted before all the others, but it hung in his mind’s eye as persistent as pestilence. The smile, telling him everything had been taken care of, assuming the trust that Harry had been too willing to give. Never once had he asked Harry what he wanted, unable to both trust him with his life and fight a war. 

 

It was quiet, and Harry looked up.

 

He gave a sardonic smile. “I’m not going to go on a pathetic spiel about my life. Really, I’m sorry I laughed. I shouldn’t have.”

 

Severus’ glare was hot as baked steel. Even his nostrils felt the heat, flaring.

 

“Do you even realize I’m more concerned about how you purposefully ignored your own pain to get into a pissing contest with that Ravenclaw than that you opened a blatantly suspicious and hostile letter with little precaution?”

 

Harry felt the world tilt on its head.

 

“What? Why?” he said in daze, trying and failing to reread their conversation. 

 

“Why?” Severus repeated a slow-simmer tone that reminded Harry somewhat of a smoldering volcano. 

 

“Harry, do you like pain?” Draco asked seriously.

 

Harry grunted. “No. I do not _like_ pain. Try not to sound so eager about it either.”

 

“Then why, pray tell,” Severus said, “do you seem so resolute in inflicting yourself careless injury.”

 

“You think I wanted to get my hand burned off?”

 

“I am not speaking of your hands,” he said that scathing voice Harry had not heard since before the war and he was botching potions.

 

Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

 

Severus’ hands made a twitch that might have been meant to knock the cart aside, but he clenched his fingers over the metal and turned away with a snarl. 

 

“Harry, you… That’s not normal.” Draco said, sitting up to look at him with unusually concerned grey eyes. 

 

Harry made a sound of exasperation. “Nothing is permanent. I mean, I have a few scars but they don’t interfere with anything.”

 

Draco seemed to suddenly get as frustrated with him as Severus and stood. “Don’t you know what something like that means?”

 

“No,” Harry replied mulishly, trying not to get irritated.

 

“It means you don’t care about whether or not you get hurt,” Draco said with a glare. “I mean, what is that, Harry? How can you let your hand catch on fire? Doesn’t it hurt?”

 

“I had it shielded.”

 

“Why didn’t you scream?” he said. “Why didn’t you run to the infirmary? Your hand was on bloody fire!” 

 

Harry buried his face in his hand, ignoring the slight shaking. 

 

“Alright,” he said. “You’re angry at me because I didn’t express that I was hurt? But that’s... Everyone was watching me. Wasn’t it better that I ignored it?”

 

Draco shook his head. “How can you be so practical about it?”

 

Harry looked at Severus, but the man gave him no ground. “Even I would have healed it first. It is not weakness when people expect you to be wounded. You came across as monstrous.”

 

Harry swallowed. An image surfaced. Would people liken him to Voldemort again? He licked his lips.

 

“Did I... did I scare you?”

 

Draco glanced at Severus. Severus blinked slowly before answering, “No,” he said softly. “I have seen the Dark Lord, and you are not him. But others will not know.”

 

Harry exhaled loudly. 

 

“I wasn’t scared of you, Harry,” Draco said. “I was scared for you though. I just... I don’t understand how you can treat it so casually,” he said in desperation. “It’s _pain_.”

 

Harry dare not say that he was used to it again. He knew that other people were different. Pain had never _excited_ him, though he’d met Death Eaters like that. But he could work through it because there were times when he had to. He could even remember times in his childhood when he’d had to cook and clean when Dudley had broken his toes. 

 

Draco stared at him with bright eyes. “You don’t have to actually cut up your arm or be suicidal to hate yourself, Harry.”

 

He drew in his breath. The infirmary went quiet, both Slytherins watching him with something that he once would have called hate. He closed his eyes. He was such an idiot. 

 

“I don’t hate myself,” he said softly. “Not like that. I promise.”

 

“How exactly do you hate yourself?” Severus asked.

 

Stepping into dangerous territory, Harry answered bravely. “The same way normal people do. I think I could have done better in this or I regret doing that. I’m not trying to _punish_ myself. I just... I had my hand warded against anymore, and I knew Poppy could heal me. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

 

Severus eyed him shrewdly. “You do this often.”

 

He shrugged magnanimously. “When it benefits me.”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes, but it was Draco who spoke. “That’s Slytherin.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “The way you assign qualities to certain houses is ridiculous.”

 

Draco frowned. “That’s the point of houses.”

 

“Yeah, well it’s naive. Hermione is just as ambitious as either of you, and I’m just as greedy. Both of you are just as brave, if not more.” The potion had crystallized above his wrist. It flaked, and he flicked it off. “Dumbledore was more manipulative than any Slytherin I’ve ever met.” He let it fall to the floor. 

 

“That reminds me,” the blond drawled. “How did you get those three bints to apologize?”

 

“My inherent charm of course,” he said with a smarmy smile. 

 

Severus snorted. Harry laughed, dropping the act. “Maybe I was a little harsh,” he said, recalling how angry those howlers had made him. “I gave them a few nightmares.”

 

“Potter, you best not have dappled with potions on the black market,” Severus said.

 

“You make a cute mother hen,” Harry had the nerve to say. “No,” he answered when a vein in Severus’ neck popped. “I used Legilimency. I’m a much better Legilimens than a Occlumens,” he told Severus when he opened his mouth. “Fred and George let me practice with their dreams,” he said, not mentioning that it had been on the condition that he give them sex dreams, “but that’s the extent of what I can do.”

 

“If you can do that much, you should practice,” Draco said. “Father always said that was a useful skill,” he said with only a small wince at mentioned his father.

 

Harry shook his head. “I’m fine with it as it is.”

 

Draco frowned and opened his mouth. Severus made a cutting motion with his chin. Draco’s gaze immediately zeroed in on it, and he fell quiet, though he looked confused. Harry, who much more perceptive than Severus had ever guessed, gave him a grateful smile and turned to Draco.

 

“Riddle was a natural Legilimens.”

 

Recognition dawned on Draco’s face, and he frowned. “That doesn’t mean you’re like him.”

 

“Actually it does,” he said casually. “But I’m choosing not to let it be a part of me. Being able to read people’s minds doesn’t mean that you can understand them.”

 

“Very perceptive, Potter,” Severus said in a tone that Harry wasn’t sure was a compliment.

 

“When are you going to start calling me Harry,” he bristled. “I feel like I’m twelve whenever you call me Potter.”

 

“Perhaps that is your own fault,” he retorted.

 

Harry gave him a leer. “Pedophile.”

 

Severus gaped at him. Draco sent him a cautious look, moving as if from a volatile cauldron. But Harry sent him a tender smile, deftly defusing a bomb.

 

“Mr. Potter, I would say that is entirely inappropriate.”

 

“You think?” he said cheekily, tilting his head.

 

Severus opened his mouth but was interrupted.

 

“Alright,” Pomfrey said, floating freshly cleaned bedpans from her office. “Bed, Potter.”

 

“What?” he said, turning fast to look outside. “It’s not even noon.”

 

“You heal faster when you are sleeping, Mr. Potter, as I have told you on numerous occasions if you would deign yourself to listen.”

 

“I can’t sleep in the middle of the day!”

 

“Which is why I have a perfectly good sleeping draught on hand,” she said with a hawkish glare. 

 

Harry eyed the vial in her hand distastefully before looking up. “You just want me asleep so you can ravage me.”

 

“Out! Everyone out!”

 

“Wait!” Harry shouted as she began manually shoving the two Slytherins towards the door, both of whom looked equally affronted and amused. “Five more minutes. I won’t even make you spell it down my throat.”

 

She eyed him distrustfully. “Five minutes, Potter. You renege and hag nose pustules go into your next dose.”

 

Harry sniffed at the threat. “As if you haven’t warded the place against my magical signature anyway.”

 

She gave him a truly Slytherin smirk and retreated to her office again. 

 

“I’m beginning to think that woman was once in Slytherin,” Draco said appreciatively. 

 

“Hufflepuff,” Harry said. “But close.”

 

They both sneered at him. He chuckled. 

 

“You have four minutes and thirty seconds to kiss me goodbye,” he said to Severus. “She’ll keep me in here for a good week and the place will be swarming with Gryffindors. I can manage to sneak in Draco, but I probably won’t see you until the harpy gives me clearance.”

 

Severus raised his brow but slid past the cart. Draco pulled the curtain closed. 

 

“Keep your hand in the solution.”

 

“Yes, si-”

 

Severus gripped the hair at his nape firmly, pulling his head back. Harry had a penchant for looping his arms around his neck and was quite frustrated to be handicapped, placing only one hand against his neck. He delighted in the feel of Severus’ pulse. Though by no means old, Severus nevertheless had very distinctive cords in his neck. They cut softly across his palm, displaying the bob in his Adam’s apple. 

 

Harry curled his tongue underneath Severus’, drifting his eyes shut. Severus remained tame, neither restricting the boy or encouraging him. Merely letting Harry do as he saw fit. Harry opened his mouth wider and massaged his lips the way that Draco had taught him. Severus smiled faintly into the kiss.

 

“You do realize I can’t wank in here, you nasty git,” Harry said three minutes later, eyes hooded. 

 

“We’ll talk later,” he said, moving with Draco towards the door.

 

“Can’t wait,” Harry said, smiling.

 

Draco darted forward quickly and pressed a chaste kiss to his now swollen lips.

 

“I’ll keep him busy ‘til then shall I?”

 

“You two are fucking horrible.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff and sexy times
> 
> Since them learning to be happy is kind of the plot, with the mystery kind of being a side-plot, I'm putting as much detail into their relationship as I can. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (Like, graphic sex. And Harry goes a little subspacey.)

“Potter!”

 

Harry ignored Flitwick’s shocked shout as he skidded around a corner with a hurried “s’cuse me” to two Ravenclaw girls. 

 

“I’ll get him, Professor!” Hermione said, already barreling down after him.

 

“Miss Granger! No running as well!”

 

Harry dropped to the third floor, shouting spells that stretched vines between the columns.

 

“Harry Potter! Stop acting like you’re four!” Hermione shouted behind him, easily cutting through the foliage with a single slashing hex.

 

“I couldn’t do that when I was four!” he shouted over his shoulder. He spotted Draco up ahead talking to Zabini. The blond glanced up in enough time to watch Harry grab hold of his arm and fling him around, hauling him beside him at full sprint.

 

“The devil...!” 

 

“Just run!” Harry grinned at him.

 

“Draco, stop him for me!” Hermione shouted, pausing to apologize to a small gaggle of first year Hufflepuffs she had knocked over. 

 

Draco barked a laugh and joined Harry in flight. They took five more flights down, knocking into the walls, feet skidding out from under them, until they made it to the dungeons. Harry flung the door to Severus’ office open, pulling Draco in behind him. They collapsed against the door, panting and wheezing.

 

“What did you do?” Severus asked in a tired voice from behind his desk, where he had been grading papers. 

 

“Why… do you always… assume the worst of me… sir?” Harry said between breaths.

 

“Because whatever Draco would have done wouldn’t have allowed him to get caught and you are trouble incarnate.”

 

“You know, I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

 

Severus hmm-ed. He turned to Draco.

 

“Don’t look at me,” he said, still struggling to catch his breath. “I just got kidnapped.”

 

Someone suddenly knocked on the door, causing Harry to freeze. “Fuck, I thought it would take her longer to search Slytherin.”

 

He darted towards Severus’ desk. The potion’s master looked up at him like he had lost his mind, especially when he suddenly dropped to his knees.

 

“Move,” he said nudging his way passed Severus’ knees and into the desk.

 

“Potter, what the devil do you think you’re doing?” he said just as the knock came again.

 

“Hiding,” he smirked from between his knees, his hand squeezing his inner thigh.

 

Draco flopped on the couch with a laugh.

 

Severus growled before biting out “Enter!”

 

Hermione stuck her head between the crack. Draco had to hand it to the woman. She wasn’t even panting. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Professor.”

 

“And yet, you are still here, Miss Granger,” Severus said, setting aside a piece of parchment.

 

She glanced over at Draco. “Draco, do you know where Harry is?”

 

“He ran off. What precisely did he do?”

 

She stared at him for a moment before stepping fully into the room.

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“Excuse me?” he said incredulously, rising from the couch.

 

“You are lying,” she said and searched the room again. “You’re hiding him. Professor, have you seen Harry?”

 

“I believe what Mr. Malfoy said is correct. I do not take to having Gryffindors gallivanting about my quarters, Miss Granger.”

 

Her mouth fell open a little. “You’re _both_ hiding him?”

 

Her eyes fell to the door that led to Severus’ personal rooms. Severus quirked an eye, just daring her. She released an pent-up sigh.

 

“Draco, when you see him tell him we are going to have a nice long talk and that he should probably start warding everything in his room.”

 

“Threats, Hermione?” the blond said, looking smug again.

 

She sniffed. “He should be thankful I’m giving him warning at all,” she said, closing the door behind her.

 

“I am liking her more and more,” Draco said as Harry emerged from beneath the desk.

 

Rather than come around, he plopped himself in Severus’ lap.

 

“You don’t have to live with her.”

 

“What did you do?” Severus asked again.

 

Harry shook his head. “I’m not telling you.”

 

“Oh.” Severus said, making both Draco’s and Harry’s faces twitch. “I suppose if not even the great Hermione Granger can threaten you into compliancy, I shouldn’t try either.”

 

“Are you being sarcastic?”

 

“When is he not sarcastic?” Draco grumbled. 

 

Harry heard the distinctive sound of the lock in door sliding into the jamb. He suddenly decided that being in Severus’ lap was probably not the best vantage point.

 

“Scared, Potter?” he said, resting his hand on his hip.

 

“Fuck yeah, you sadistic bastard.”

 

“Why is it that when I said that you told me ‘you wish?’” Draco whined. 

 

“Is that even a question?” Harry said, leaning back into the desk though the fact that Severus was between his legs sort of impeded any escape route. 

 

No, Draco couldn’t really perfect that eat-you-alive-and-spit-you-back-out look quite like Severus. Not to mention the man bloody well loomed. 

 

“One last chance, Harry,” he smirked, drawling the name and hovering over him so that Harry had to arch his back painfully over the wood. “You don’t want to tell me why Miss Granger intruded into my quarters to serve justice to whatever misdemeanor you accomplished?”

 

Harry didn’t even have to think about it. “Definitely not now.”

 

Severus’ smirk widened.

 

o.O.o

 

“This isn’t fair,” Harry cried an hour later.

 

Severus gave a dark chuckle. “Deal with it.”

 

Harry squirmed against the bonds, knowing they would not give, that there was not a centimeter of space to grant him reprieve. He tried once more to pull his knees together, to gain some blessed _friction_ , but the invisible snares around his ankles did not give, tight enough now to be painful. Though he did not notice. He hit his head against the wall, delighted when the stars dancing around his head gave him a moment of peace from the image burned across his retinas. 

 

Severus had Draco tied to the bed and not with the measly, magical bonds that cemented Harry to the wall but with real satin cords that hung from the canopy like shiny snakes. Two green cords captured Draco’s wrists, pulling them between his legs and keeping his shoulders stretched. His front was pressed in the bed and low keens were pulsing from his mouth, which Harry could not see. His view was full of Severus’ fingers riding the boy’s prostate, slipping in and out of the puckered flesh, dripping with the translucent lube. 

 

Severus sat beside him with his legs crossed, watching Harry with a stoked gaze. The fingers stroked in and out, and Harry could see Draco’s abdomen move with the motion, the flutter of muscles. Harry groaned, the memory of Draco surrounding his cock all too vivid. Severus’ other hand twirled the hair at Draco’s nape. Draco raised his hips, wailing for more, but Severus smirked, keeping the pace torturously slow. He had a spell around the base of both their cocks keeping both of them from climax.

 

“He’s waiting for you, Harry,” Severus said with a smile that could almost be considered kind. 

 

Harry moaned, trying to thrust his hips, but the spell was too tight and restrictive. His prick _hurt_. There were black spots dancing around his vision. He gritted his teeth. 

 

“Draco, I don’t think he’s coming for you,” he said with a smirk.

 

“You bastard,” Harry cried, his voice hoarse, the muscles in his stomach painfully tight.

 

“If you can still speak then you can tell me what I want to hear.”

 

When Harry remained silent, not even defiantly, just trying to catch his breath, Severus added another finger and hooked it. Draco screamed into the mattress. His toes pressed against the mattress, arching his lovely feet - God, Harry had no reason to find them lovely before now. The fetter around his ankles kept his knees splayed. The buds of his fists between them opened and closed. He was a dribbling, shivering mess, and Harry had never been more turned on in his life. 

 

“Draco, why don’t you try calling out to him?” Severus hummed in his ear.

 

“Harry,” Draco said, breathless. “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry,” he said, starting a litany. 

 

“ _God_ , Severus.”

 

“As delicious as your begging is, it is still not what I want to hear.”

 

Harry swallowed but the reservation he had against allowing the Slytherins to use his prank against him was drowned in the whispered exaltations of the blond squirming on his lover’s fingers. 

 

“Don’t… use it… against Ron,” he said between groans.

 

Severus stood up, leaving Draco bereft and keening. He approached Harry, who would have hung limply if the bonds didn’t pull him so cruelly flush against the wall. Severus leaned over him, palms to either side of his hips, not touching. Fuck you fuck you fuck you, Harry thought desperately, open for just about anything if Sev would just _touch_ him.

 

“You are not in a position to bargain, Mr. Potter,” the man drawled, nosing his jaw in the air over Harry’s neck.

 

Harry bared his throat, his adam’s apple clicking. 

 

“But I’ll indulge you.”

 

The bonds dissolved, and Harry sank to his knees. His hands went immediately to his cock, but Severus caught them, delighting in the feral sound he made when he tried to yank them away.

 

Severus kept his hold. 

 

“We wouldn’t want to leave Mr. Malfoy all by himself, would we? He gets lonely easily.”

 

Harry felt his clothes being removed and couldn’t care that it was by spell. It was quicker that way. He was moving, tripping out of his garments. _Finally_. 

 

Draco was blindfolded and God, so damn pretty. His mouth open, his balls hanging, and his legs taut as his hips kept seeking backwards for touch. 

 

It was perfect.

 

“Harry?” he groaned, voice rough and frogged. 

 

Harry put a hand on Draco’s wet forehead, feeling him give into the touch with free abandon. God, he loved him so much.

 

And he loved Severus. He loved Severus for knowing this is exactly what he’d like. For opening this door to himself, that he never would have thought was there. 

 

It was so much. Too much. He felt blown open.

 

He fucked into Draco, ignoring the way Draco slapped his feet on the bed, singing Yesyesyesyes. 

 

Harry was embarrassed to feel tears in his eyes. He felt lost, out of control, abruptly scared of all this emotion and wonder. 

 

Severus leaned over him, his clothed front erotic and bizarre enough to make him gasp and shudder. Severus nudged his cold nose over Harry’s shoulder. He was strength, cutting off his retreat, and Harry gave into it, letting himself be guided. He gave all his fear over to Severus, knowing the man would never let him hurt Draco. 

 

He lost his mind for a bit. Blissed out. Draco in front. Severus behind. Soaring and anchored and _safe_ in between. 

 

Their climaxes came like an afterthought. He was draped along Draco’s back, hand trailing down with lassitude to undo the buckles. Blearily, he registered Severus with his hand retreating from his prick, jutting from his mostly fastened robes. 

 

He turned without thinking, leaning backwards against his boyfriend to take his other lover’s hand into his mouth, licking up the cum without tasting it. 

 

Harry stared at it a moment as if searching to make sure he had done a good job then nodded. 

 

“Keep your cum in me or Draco?” he asked tiredly and stumbled back to join Draco on the bed.

 

Severus stared after him with his jaw unscrewed. 

 

“Sev’rus?” Draco called impatiently. A sleepy gaze beckoned him grumpily, where Harry had already leeching onto him, irregardless of the sordid mess. 

 

Severus didn’t know when lust and fascination turned into love. He didn’t know if he believed in love, but the sudden revelation didn’t leave him with the pit of terror that he expected. Though it was a frightening thought, one that come morning he would probably write off as postcoital foolishness, it made him feel warm. Wanted. Safe. 

 

He stripped out of his robes and crawled into bed, pushing Draco into the center. The blond was happy to lay his head on his shoulder, intertwining their legs and wrapping an arm around his waist. Harry was already asleep, his back nestled against Draco as he was want to do with his kicking habit.

 

Severus took off his glasses, which had somehow made it through all that ruckus. He turned off the light. The light in the antechamber was still bright, and his eyes adjusted to the dark blurs that made up his lovers.

 

His lovers.How had happiness crept up on him?

 

o.O.o

 

“So,” Draco said, blowing across the top of his tea. “Tell us what dastardly deed had you so prepared to resist Severus’ unbearable torture, my love.”

 

Harry sent him a look. There were back in the study, the Saturday morning not shining as brightly in the dungeons but filling them with a sense of lethargy all the same. Or that could have been the sex. Harry set down his cup.

 

“You have to swear you won’t use this against Ron.”

 

Draco held a hand over his heart. “On my Slytherin honor.”

 

Harry gave him a dubious look before transferring his gaze to Severus. The man had already given his word last night. He gave Harry a wry expression and continued drinking his tea. Harry sighed.

 

“He made a… comment that I didn’t find funny and I transfigured his underwear into harnesses.”

 

“That’s not so bad,” Draco said.

 

“Leather harnesses, the kind I really don’t either of you to get stuck in your heads.”

 

Draco ogled him a moment before busting out laughing. Severus grimaced.

 

“I do need appreciate that image, Mr. Potter.”

 

“At least I made it just his underwear and not his entire dresser.”

 

“Well, won’t he just not wear underwear?” Draco said, amused. 

 

Harry scratched his chin. “I might have added a spell that made it not come off. It’s not like you’d notice!” he said when Draco started howling again. He hit him with a cushion. “He’d just wear his clothes over it. I don’t see why Hermione had to chase me all over the school. The spell would have broken in a few days anyway.”

 

“What did the git say?” Draco asked, trying not to cry. 

 

Harry’s cheeks went red, and he mumbled something out.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“He said I probably let you spank me, but he was just being a git because I said that Hermione has him on a leash. Which she _does_ ,” he stressed as if to prove his innocence. 

 

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Draco leered.

 

Harry gave him a stare. “No,” he said pointedly. 

 

“Would you let Sev do it?” Draco asked curiously.

 

Harry’s stare darkened just a bit. “No.”

 

“You are rather sensitive on this subject,” Severus said.

 

Harry was silent a moment, though Severus was relieved to say he didn’t look offended. “I have a bad experience with it, yes.”

 

“Father said whippings were crass, muggle ways of teaching their children to behave,” Draco said, voice full of distaste. 

 

Harry seemed thoughtful. “I could not imagine striking a child, but I’ve never had children so I’m hardly one to say.”

 

“Was it not your muggle uncle who disciplined you?” Severus asked. 

 

Harry frowned. “I don’t know if that’s what you’d call it,” he said slowly. “There was a boy down the street who hung around my cousin. And his jollies were… disciplining me,” he said. “So I can honestly say I don’t like the idea.”

 

“Oh,” Draco said. 

 

“If I may,” Severus said diplomatically. “Your aunt and uncle allowed this behavior?”

 

“Severus, you’ve seen my memories,” Harry reminded him.

 

Severus fought a wince. He had never expected that he would regret treating Harry so cruelly. “That was your monster of a cousin not…”

 

“My monster of a cousin’s parents,” Harry finished with a wry look. “Yeah, they allowed it, but it’s not really something that bothers me anymore. I mean, they never hit me, and I didn’t end up damaged or anything.”

 

There was an awkward silence, which Draco used to lean over and kiss him.

 

“What was that for?” Harry said in a surprised voice when he parted only a moment later.

 

“Because I wanted to.”

 

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, Draco.”

 

“I don’t,” he assured. “I’m just happy you’re here and you’re you.”

 

Harry blushed and ducked his head, which Severus had to admit was very attractive. 

 

“Er, thanks,” he said awkwardly and pushed his glasses up. 

 

Draco lied across his lap contentedly, nursing his tea. Harry gave him a rather bemused expression before holding the back of Draco’s calves, settling with the weight. He grabbed the cushion he had smacked him with and offered it for his shoulders, which made Draco’s eyes brighten. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas smut! hehehehehehe

Christmas was coming up, and with it, the castle emptied. Harry, who had been planning to squat at the Weasleys for the festivities, shortened the visit to a Christmas Eve dinner. He wanted to spend the holidays with Severus and Draco, though no one knew about the former. 

 

Harry allowed Draco to become more emboldened now that most the students were gone. Though Harry did demand a certain level of discretion. Colin Creevey was the only other Gryffindor remaining for the holidays, fiddling with his camera (which Ron had helped Harry brilliantly sabotage) in the common room. Quite a few Slytherins stayed. Draco told him he would have stayed anyway, and Harry did not ask him why, though he did drag him to the pitch for a game of Snitch. 

 

Severus usually took holiday in his dreary house, but it was not unheard of for him to spend the time brewing in the labs, which was much more accommodating than the one in the basement of his house. 

 

Harry spent a long time thinking about what to get them. His presents for the Weasleys and Hermione were already bought. He had even gotten something for Luna, which he was fairly sure she’d like. He was reading a news article, one of the least embellished drivel that the Prophet spouted, when the idea for Severus’ gift literally offered itself to him in a small ad. Draco’s had been more tricky but a hell of a lot more satisfying endeavor to produce.

 

When the morning for presents arrived, Harry was almost hysterically nervous. Severus didn’t allow the traditional tree in his quarters, but he had the house elves fix a nice breakfast complete with gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate with whipped cream. Harry was so delighted that he bossed Severus’ cheek on the way out of the bedroom. 

 

“You’re chipper this morning,” Draco said, smirking.

 

“I shall guess that Christmas is your favorite holiday,” Severus added in a resigned sort of way. 

 

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Harry said with a broad grin.

 

“I’m rather surprised we haven’t been undulated with owls,” Severus said, taking a seat in his armchair and sipping his tea. 

 

“I exchanged gifts with the Weasleys last night.” He gestured to his maroon jumper, a golden H knitted lovingly in the center. He licked the syrup off his fingers and leaned over the arm of the couch to unearth a green package. “Molly told me to give this to you,” he said, handing it to Draco. 

 

Draco blinked at him, eyes widening in shock before setting down his utensils and taking it from him. It was rather obvious what it was, but Draco and Severus both were still surprised to see a green jumper, hand-knit in thick wool, with a silver D on the front.

 

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I don’t know how the woman knew, but I think Ginny told her you were being nice to us or something. Draco, what’s wrong?” he said when Draco looked like he was going to start crying.

 

“Nothing,” he said too quickly and a stubborn look passed over his face, squaring his features. He tore the rest of the wrapping away. He pulled the sweater over his pajama top, pleased that the neck hole was just the right size though it completely ruffled his hair. 

 

“Bugger, I didn’t send her anything.”

 

Harry laughed. “I don’t think she expected you to.”

 

“Unacceptable,” he heard Draco mumble as he took a sip of cocoa. He said nothing else, but Harry could see his eyes calculating.

 

They took a moment to finish eating before exchanging gifts, which was done with some embarrassment. Draco handed out his presents first. The Malfoys were no longer rich, nor did they had the contacts they did before the war. Harry had no idea how he paid for the gifts as he unwrapped an expensive dove-grey cloak, padded with rabbit fur. It was posh but beautiful and masculine, a silver clasp with a griffin’s head at the neck.

 

“It has protection charms woven into it,” Draco informed him. “Since you always seem to get into trouble.”

 

Harry gaped at it. No one had ever given him something like this before. Even if the Weasleys were loaded, he doubted they would have considered it. Harry wasn’t exactly the type of person who would suit something so splendid. He was slightly worried that Draco had stolen it, or worse, sold some heirloom to pay for it. 

 

“You always walk around in those hideous clothes that practically engulf you,” Draco said with a sniff. “It’s high time you start dressing appropriately.”

 

“You mean like a pureblood,” he smirked, folding the fabric gingerly. “Thank you, Draco.”

 

The blond blushed and took another sip of his cocoa. He grimaced and cast a warming charm. Severus lifted his brow and unwrapped his own gift. Severus was ridiculously harder to shop for. Prior to this chaotic threesome, Draco had always purchased him some tome that had been too much for the man’s budget, but he wanted this year, their first Christmas, to be more intimate. 

 

“If you don’t like her, you can exchange her for something else,” Draco started. “I just noticed that you always used the school owls, and you cannot use her for ingredients,” he chided. “I already checked so don’t even think about it.”

 

The creature was a crossbreed between a strix and some type of predator bird that Severus suspected was a hawk until the bird jumped on his arm. 

 

It was a stymphalian. The huge black eyes belonged to a strix, the ill-omen bird that crossed from the underworld to perch outside the houses of the diseased. Strix were small, their eyes taking up most of their body with a small beak designed for pecking out tongues. Stymphalians were large. Birds of war, their feathers were metal, talons perfect for ripping warriors off their steeds. 

 

The strange mixture had created a beast a little above average height. The puffy feathers of the strix were elongated, turning into a strange metal like tin or very thin magnesium, bent at the edges where it had flapped against the parcel. Its head swiveled oddly, characteristic of an owl, sharp, iron talons kneading his forearm as it balanced itself. It jumped on Severus’ shoulder, tucking its head beneath its speckled wing to sort out its feathers. 

 

It was an odd looking thing, face too squashed for a hawk and body too long for an owl. It was handsome in a rustic sort of way, sinister but proud. It was obviously illegally bred.

 

“She’s intelligent,” Draco said. “If you want to keep her, you’ll have to let her smell your blood, and the owner told me that there is a chance she won’t take to it,” he said. “She’ll hunt on her own, but if you need her for something she’ll… somehow know or something, so you don’t even need to call for her. She just sort of… reminded me of you and I thought you’d like her, but there are a lot of other animals and it’s no problem if you want to-”

 

“Hush,” Severus ordered.

 

The boy snapped his mouth shut. Severus flicked his wand and levitated a letter opener from his desk. He pressed the tip into his finger and presented it to the bird. She swiveled her head, those wide eyes so disarming. She cocked her head and lowered her wing, sliding her feet along his shoulder. She nibbled lightly on his finger as if to taste it, then flapped her wings, the metal making a light clicking sound like coins. Her talon caught Severus’ chin, turning him so that she was staring into his beetle-black eyes. 

 

The three held their breath. The head suddenly swiveled all the way around, making them wince. The foot released him, and her body turned, following her neck. She looked away again and continued righting her feathers. Draco and Harry expelled their breaths. 

 

“She could be immortal,” Draco continued saying. “But she’s the only crossbreed that I’ve heard of so nobody really knows.”

 

“What will you call her?” Harry asked.

 

“Alcyone,” Severus said immediately. 

 

Draco blinked, then smirked. “Another tragedy, Severus? What is it with you and Greek suicides?”

 

Severus scowled at him. “I was unaware that my tastes were so abhorrent to you.”

 

Harry smiled at the bird. “I like her.”

 

Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m glad that _my_ bird pleases you.”

 

Harry shrugged. Her eyes swiveled to him, pausing in grooming. Harry suspected she could taste the death on him or something equally peculiar. He raised his hands in a “not much I can do about it” motion, and Alcyone returned to ignoring him. 

 

“Alright,” Draco announced. “My turn,” he said eagerly.

 

Severus gave a good-natured sigh and summoned the packages from beneath his bed. Alcyone gave a perturbed flap and lighted herself on the back of his chair. Severus had none of the money that Draco and Harry had, so his gifts weren’t as exclusive. Draco was the first to undo his wrapping and gave an excited shout at the various assortments of chocolates Severus had arranged for him. There was a steeple of white chocolate with raspberry swirls, which Severus knew was his favorite. Small baubles of chocolate covered cherries and ones with orange filling surrounded the structure in the center, coconut shavings littering the bottom. 

 

There was a small gasp from Harry. Harry had been the one Severus was dubious about. He’d had years to become accustomed to what Draco wanted, but Harry was a new species, and he had gone with a whim. Harry pulled the bundle from the box, scattering the newspaper around it. There were six books strung together. _A Farewell to Arms_ by Earnest Hemingway, _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a few short stories by Graham Greene, _Fahrenheit 451_ by Ray Bradbury, _1984_ by George Orwell, and _Lord of the Flies_ by William Golding. 

 

Harry put his hand over his mouth. Severus wasn’t expecting this reaction. All of the books were new, but none of them had even broached expensive, available at almost any muggle bookstore worth its salts. They weren’t even titles that he had to look for. Harry closed his eyes.

 

“Harry?” Draco called softly. 

 

In a quick motion, Harry stood, going around the coffee table to approach Severus’ chair. The man held himself rigid. Harry, ignoring the raptor looking bird on the back on his seat, wrapped his arms around him, bending awkwardly over his lap. 

 

“Thank you, Severus,” he whispered in his ear. His voice cracked a smidgen but remained sincere, hot with a gratefulness that Severus was unused to. 

 

“They are simply books.”

 

Harry rose up and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. He held out his hand. A piece of paper and a box that looked like it might hold a ring flew into the room. He sat back down, a wild and soft smile on his face, his eyes gleaming like glass shards. He handed the box first to Draco.

 

The boy gave him a dubious look. “You aren’t proposing are you?”

 

Harry outright laughed. “Open it, you git.”

 

Draco did as he was told. Severus could not see what it was, but the expression on Draco’s face froze. 

 

“Where… how did you get this?”

 

“Nicked it,” Harry said merrily.

 

Draco looked up at him, his eyes oddly vulnerable. He handed the box to Severus. It was his ring. The ring. The ring that the Ministry had confiscated under the pretense of investigation. The ring that had run through the Malfoy heirs for centuries, a signet ring with the coat of arms. Losing the ring was just as painful as losing the manor, how the line authenticated documents and passed inheritance down the family. This was how Draco proved he was pureblood, the thing that would allow him to marry other purebloods or give his children the same right. 

 

How had Harry gotten this?

 

Before either of them could question him, Harry handed Severus the sheet. He took it, recognizing a certificate but unable to comprehend much else besides the fact that it granted him rights to something slain in battle.

 

“What is this?”

 

“This,” Harry said, “is the rights to the basilisk currently rotting in the Chamber of Secrets. It’s been five years, but the fangs and some of the scales are still harvestable.”

 

Severus gaped at him. “This is a fortune.”

 

“I know but it’s useless where it is right now.”

 

Severus shook his head. “I cannot accept this,” he said, trying to hand the parchment back. It was just too much. The boy could pay other experts to harvest it. He would still reap a fortune. This was just too much.

 

Harry stood up again. This time when he came around the coffee table it was with a sly grace that would have suited a panther. Severus could only stare at him mutely, as Harry set the certificate aside and knelt in his lap.

 

“You can and you will because I want you to. Because you are the most intelligent person I could possibly find to do this. Because you are already thinking of a dozen different potions that you could make with this, and it’s the only thing in the world that I could give you that no one else can and it can make you happy.”

 

He traced the shell of Severus’ ear with his lips and drew back to look him in the eye.

 

“And I like thinking that even when you are brewing, you will be thinking of me. Just like Draco will be thinking of me every time he pushes that ring around his finger.”

 

Severus felt the tightness in his chest expand into his fingertips. It pooled between his legs. Jade eyes watched him, delighting in the smolder that rose like steam in his jet-black eyes. That Harry Potter could turn him so, that he would even want to, was a thought heady with promise like liquor. He heard Draco utter an oath. 

 

That the boy could be so possessive… Severus wasn’t sure why he was so powerful, why this secret side of him was so enthralling, but it made his body hot and his mind fog with the urge to bend him backwards and demand all the juicy promise from his lips. 

 

They collapsed in a tumble of bruising force on the bed. They could hear Harry’s laughter, like a dulcet bell, all throat and no forethought. Draco was fumbling with clothes, and Harry was teasing them both with chaste kisses that made Severus want to turn him over and fuck him mercilessly. 

 

Severus caught Draco’s eye from the light spilling out from the study. He nodded and the harsh tumbling of limbs and raw smack of kisses eased. Severus flicked out his hand, the motion sharp and quick, and the red candles on his dresser rose cautiously in a dim glow. Harry was lying across the bed, Mrs. Weasley’s jumper pushed above his nipples, his glasses threatening to fall off his nose and his hands raised at each side of his head. A flush stained his cheeks, and the motions of his chest were pronounced, his ribs moving in tandem with his breathing. Harry looked up at them both, debauched and tussled, as if to ask why they had stopped. 

 

Saliva pooled in Severus’ mouth. He took Harry’s glasses.

 

“I feel as if our presents did not quite measure up to yours.”

 

“But, they-”

 

“Quiet,” Severus said easily, the corner of his lip curling up. Harry’s breathing quickened. “So we’re going to express our gratitude and you are going to do exactly what we tell you, aren’t you?”

 

Harry smiled mischievously and did not answer. 

 

Draco smirked beside him. He curled his body into Severus’ side and stared down at him with his eyes so darkly hooded that the dove looked charcoal. 

 

“Never say a Slytherin doesn’t give you what you deserve.”

 

o.O.o

 

Severus hiked his grip up higher, forcing a tortured groan from the boy. 

 

“God, please. S-st-t-top.”

 

Severus smiled. His arms were hooked underneath his legs, wrenching his knees apart. Harry was sitting on his thighs, clothed only in his shirt. He leaned his head back on Severus’ shoulder, exposing his throat. 

 

Draco’s hands rested on Severus’ knees, bracing himself beneath them both.

 

“Wider,” he demanded breathlessly.

 

Severus obliged, forcing Harry’s legs even further apart. The boy cried out, his back rutting against Severus’ erection. Draco thrust his tongue. Harry made small motions of bobbing, impeded by Severus’ hold. 

 

“I… I can’t…” he muttered incoherently. 

 

“Where’s that Gryffindor resilience?” Severus hummed.

 

Harry let out a peal, ignoring him. Severus nosed his neck, pressing his lips to his ear.

 

“Toss me off.”

 

“Wh- I… I can’t…”

 

Severus pulled his knees up higher so that he slid a little down his lap, exposing his spread cheeks for Draco’s tongue. 

 

“You sure?” Severus smirked onto his salty neck. 

 

Harry struggled to move his hands, cuffed behind him, wincing and flinching. His hands found the length of Severus’ cock and grip him, but he didn’t seem to know what else to do. Tears were leaking out of the corner of his eyes, hisses escaping his clenched teeth. 

 

“Good. Now up and down,” Severus instructed. 

 

“Fucking bastard,” he spat out, trying and failing to lean up. He was clumsy, too distracted for finesse, but Severus didn’t mind. “For fuck’s sake!” he screamed.

 

Severus decided he had had enough and moved to stand. Draco immediately pulled back, lying across the floor, pale and naked. Severus lifted Harry by his armpits and while Draco guided his cock, sat the boy firmly on his lap. Harry’s eyes flew open and a long, deep moan dragged out of him. 

 

“I never knew you were such a slut, Mr. Potter,” Severus hummed behind him.

 

“Shut up,” Harry snapped. He shuddered around Draco’s prick, wrists straining against the soft cords Severus used for play. He stayed still, clenching and unclenching as he adjusted to the feel. Draco, who had been in Harry’s position too many times to count, knew better than to rest his hands on his hips and instead grasped them behind his head, bucking in small controlled thrusts. Harry, thighs quivering, lifted himself up and went down. Draco hissed, his back arching.

 

“Not good enough, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. 

 

He grabbed Harry’s sides, lifted him all the way off the boy and then speared him. Harry screamed, released an arch of precum. Severus tapped Draco’s hip, and the blond rolled them over. Harry adjusted his shoulders, and his legs went automatically to encircle Draco’s waist, his ankles crossed over his back. Grinning and sweating, Draco slid in and out. 

 

He developed a rhythm until Severus delved a finger, slick with lube, into Draco’s arse. Draco yelped in surprise, automatically clenching around the digit. Harry released his legs, splaying his thighs wider. He had already come and was watching them both with glazed eyes. 

 

Draco, whose body was still more accustomed to penetration than Harry’s, did not take long to stretch. He could hardly feel the pain of the fingers anymore. With a squelching sound, Severus slid into him. Draco choked on his cry, collapsing to his elbows atop Harry’s chest. Severus’ prick slid out to the tip of him. 

 

Harry was awash in the sensation of Severus fucking Draco, pressing him into the floor and moving him slightly with the momentum. Draco’s cock ran hotly into his own, sliding over his balls. Harry’s eyes rolled backwards. When they focused between a thrust, he saw Severus above the two of them, his face in a rare moment of abandon, muscles tensing.

 

If Harry had had the strength for another erection, he would have come again. Instead, he felt Draco climax, screaming into his shoulder, belly coated again in hot fluid. Severus rolled his hips upward and growled out a finish as well, kneeling limply atop them both. 

 

Harry felt a wide if tired grin crawl up his face. Draco panted wetly into his skin,shirt tangled around his neck. Breathing heavily, Severus followed the summons in his eyes, kissing Harry softly as Draco lied between them. 

 

This was the best Christmas ever.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short interlude; mostly feels

A snowball impacted with the back of his head, cutting off his answer to Colin’s query. He turned around, seeing Draco smirking at him and twirling his wand. A glint entered his eyes, and he excused himself from Colin, already cursing the snow to form into harshly packed balls. They returned to Severus’ study two hours later to accost the man with wet hugs. He cursed them into the bathroom, yelling about idiocy and fevers. Both boys laughed but obeyed, kissing their way into the shower.

 

o.O.o

 

After Draco returned from dinner with his mother, it was no effort to allow Harry to draw him into a slow kiss or for him to lose himself in the languid sex of Harry’s love, the way they used to before Severus. He certainly didn’t mind when Severus joined later to give him an upside down kiss while Harry sucked on his cock, hollowing his cheeks with a lazy look in his blown eyes. And after, while Harry massaged his feet and Severus stroked his hair, he could honestly say that Narcissa’s madness and the way she addressed the empty seat at the head of the table didn’t rip out his chest like it had before. 

 

o.O.o

 

Draco rolled over onto his stomach. Tomorrow was the last day of winter break. Tomorrow, Harry would have to return to Gryffindor Tower. No one would question his own absence from bed, but tumbling in Severus’ sheets would not be the same with one of them missing. 

 

Both Harry and Severus were still awake. Severus was reading a journal, his hand playing in Harry’s hair while the boy closed his eyes, content beneath the petting.

 

“What’s your best memory?” Draco asked suddenly.

 

Used to his abrupt, most often inane questions, Harry let out a hum, his eyes still closed. 

 

“A single memory? Probably when Sirius told me I could live with him.”

 

Severus’ fingers stopped and he looked down. Harry remained relaxed, stroking Severus’ thigh with one finger. 

 

“Severus?” Draco asked, completing bowling over the awkwardness, as he was wont. 

 

He huffed, returning to his petting and reading. “When I graduated.”

 

Draco made a face but continued anyway. “Mine’s when you kissed us both in your classroom.”

 

Harry smiled, his eyes still closed. “That’d be my best memory too if I wasn’t so shocked at the time.”

 

Severus made a sound of agreement above him. “That or the first time my cock went up your virgin arse.”

 

“Raunchy bastard,” Harry sniffed. 

 

“Hey, Harry,” Draco asked. “Have you ever slept with anyone besides us?”

 

Severus looked down, curious as well. 

 

“No,” Harry said, pulling his pillow closer. “I was a tad preoccupied with all the professors trying to off me and some little bastard flinging curses at me in the halls.”

 

“So I was your first?”

 

Harry opened his eyes. The green shards were molten and unreadable. 

 

“Yes, Draco. You were the first person I ever had sex with.”

 

Draco gave a self-satisfied grin and rested his cheek on the pillow, bending his knees so his feet were in the air. 

 

“Rather good for a virgin.”

 

Harry snorted. They elapsed into silence again, both Slytherins watching him kindly as he tried to fall asleep. Draco, not at all willing to let the night slip into tomorrow, flung himself back onto his back with an irritated sigh. Severus and Harry both gave a grunt. They knew that sigh. That sigh meant that Draco was not going to let either of them get to sleep. 

 

“What’s your worst memory?” he said after a long moment.

 

Harry stiffened and leaned up on his elbows. “Draco, I don’t think-”

 

“Mine’s when I was nine,” he said over him. “Father and Mother brought me to Paris and forgot about me in the middle of the market. I spent the entire time crying, hiding beside a trashcan. Dobby found me when Mother told him to fetch me for supper.”

 

“Draco-” Harry tried again.

 

“Lily,” Severus said, startling him. He had put the journal aside. “When I called her a mudblood.”

 

Harry flopped back on his face with a sigh. Well, if Severus could say it, then he supposed he could as well. He opened his mouth, “Sirius” on the tip of his tongue, but stopped. Neither of them had said anything about the war, he noticed, and he was sure both of them had seen much more horrible atrocities under Voldemort’s reign. 

 

“Actually,” he said, the surprise evident in his voice. “It was Christmas.” He smiled, pressing his cheek to Severus’ thigh, amazed that he still remembered. “I had to shovel the drive and when I finished and tried to go back inside, they’d locked the door,” he said. “They were watching the telly in the living room. I knocked on the window until my aunt got up, but she closed the curtains instead. They left me out there all night.” 

 

And he’d never expected warmth in that house again.

 

A hand moved his jaw. He was a little startled when Severus guided him into a kiss, but he sighed into it, making languid movements with his tongue. Draco’s hand stroked his flank, pushing up the side of his t-shirt. When Severus pulled away, cradling his face with long fingers, Harry smiled. He relaxed back into Draco’s chest, and the boy immediately embraced him. 

 

He had not known emotions like this existed, that he could feel so incredibly comfortable in someone else’s grip. He wondered if this was how Draco felt after returning from dinner with his mother, comfort outweighing cruelty.

 

He put a hand on Severus’ jaw, his eyes thick with enough tar to kill a species.

 

“ _Ssssssshehhhuhethhhhhhh ssssssshahhhajshee hhhhahhhssssssharaaaam_.”

 

“What was that?” Draco said in a startled voice behind him.

 

Harry smiled and didn’t answer, burrowing close to Severus’ chest. 

 

_You without hunter, the darkness of you burns. I would stay forever in such a place. You make me safe._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... shit goes down. (Finally.)
> 
> (omghermione)

Even though Harry was evicted from sleeping with his two lovers, he could not help the healthy jump in his step. Christmas had been absolutely wonderful, but he was happy for the return of his two best friends. He longed to tell them how wonderful Severus was, how he had gotten him literature. Harry hoarded them in his trunk, checking every so often to make sure they weren’t bent or stolen. They were tucked beside his album beneath the invisibility cloak with the bag that held a feather from Buckbeak and the last shards of the mirror Sirius had given him. 

 

Draco shocked him by wearing Mrs. Weasley’s jumper into the Gryffindor tower. Ron’s gobsmacked expression was priceless, especially when Draco made a little twirl and asked if he liked it. Harry wanted to kiss him, but there were too many people. 

 

Harry spotted Alcyone one evening in Potions class, her head tucked beneath her wing, once more meticulously evening her feathers. Hermione was in an excited snit about it for days, wanting to study her. He was still waiting for the ball to drop from that harness prank so he kept all information about it to himself for bribery. 

 

Other than an incident where he was called to Hagrid’s class to try to control some loose wyverns, things were going fairly well. He hadn’t caught any bullies recently, and Hermione told him that the man who had sent him the poisoned letter had just had his trial and was suffering a stint in Azkaban. 

 

Of course, he knew it couldn’t last. It never lasted. Things reached a peak, and all that was left to go was down.

 

This ‘down’ arrived at breakfast barely over a week after the holiday break, of course, in the form of a letter. He was reading how Margaret was doing and other than being a little snippy she seemed fairly well. He picked up the next letter, deemed harmless by a blue glow, and opened it. 

 

He stopped eating. For a moment, fear became him, but in the next, he’d finished taking the bit of sausage off his fork. Really, he’d gotten letters like this before, though this one was strangely more thought out than its predecessors. 

 

_i kNOw wHAT yOuve beEN DOIng wIth TheM_ was taped letter by letter to a piece of paper. There was nothing else. 

 

What struck him as odd was that usually such things were written in the common spell of an anonymous font. Neat, slightly feminine and slanted in an elegant sort of way. This had been cut from a magazine. There wasn’t a drop of magic on it, which was how Harry had been able to trace those howlers and how the aurors had traced the letter that caught his hand on fire. Every spell had a magical signature. It took a while, but if you captured some of the magic and fed it through a sort of magical shredder, the core acted like a piece of DNA, though it had the generosity to actually draw you to where the wielder was. Less magic, more time it took to find the source. The amount of magic that animated a howler easily led him to the bints that sent Ginny those hate letters. 

 

He didn’t know if whoever did this was incredibly smart or just incredibly weak. It didn’t matter either way. Nothing had ever come of these things. Just the fact that he had a secret now was no need to get bent out of shape about it. But he pocketed the message anyway, knowing from experience that if, against all odds, something was borne of this, he didn’t want to have to tell Severus he’d thrown it away. 

 

Harry monitored his mail a little more closely over the couple of days. Hermione and Draco noticed, as probably did Severus from the head table. He hoped he was just being silly and paranoid. But the second letter came the next day, immersed in the same innocent blue glow. 

 

_i wonT LEt them hAve you_

_Ill SAVE you_

 

Harry’s apprehension thickened. The urge to whip his head up and look around was unbearable, but he had to keep his head. He had to think about this rationally, because while he and Draco might be able to handle the press, it would destroy Severus.

 

How many Gryffindors would step forward to say that Severus had abused them when they were younger? All they would have to say is that they were too scared to come forward earlier. It was believable. Not if you knew the man but just by looking at him, taking into account that he worked for Voldemort. Even if Harry somehow managed to keep him out of jail, no one would ever treat him with respect again.

 

“Harry,” Draco said, and he became aware that Ron had shaken his shoulder and they had called his name twice.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Harry swallowed. They had to be in the school. No one else could have seen them. He wondered if that owl was a school bird.

 

“M-Margaret isn’t doing so well.”

 

Draco’s eyes flickered, and he knew that he was lying. So did Hermione. Ron had just seen Margaret’s letter, had just joked with him that she was having severe mood swings if she was sniping at her savior. But none of them said anything. Harry folded the letter neatly and did not let his eyes stray to the head table. He continued eating, though everything tasted like wet sawdust. 

 

He took a stolid breath and thought about quidditch practice. (Hagrid had invited him to visit Grawp, and though he at first thought he was going to refuse, maybe he wasn’t spending enough time with the half-giant, and Professor Flitwick assigned them that Charms essay the other day. When was that due? Maybe Hermione would lend him her notes.)

 

He managed to get through breakfast. He even managed not to run out of the Hall. He hoped only his friends would see how tense his shoulders were, how his lips had turned grey, that his hand was clenched around the wand in his pocket. He realized a few steps down the hall that Draco had a different class than him. He stopped in the middle of the hall, glancing about frantically, trying to figure out what to do. 

 

They had to act normal, right? They couldn’t let it appear like they were overly bothered. Which meant Draco needed to go to class, and he couldn’t spend all day lurking outside Severus’ classroom, making sure nothing happened. He stood torn in the middle of the hall, his friends watching him worriedly. 

 

“We’re… going to be late for class,” he choked out.

 

Where was an empty classroom when he needed one? Why couldn’t he take Draco’s hand? Why couldn’t he press him up against the wall and kiss him and tell him to be careful? Why did this have to happen at all? 

 

He kept his gaze on the floor, sure that if he looked up, he’d damn the consequences and slam Draco against the wall regardless of the students slipping passed them into their classes. His hand twitched with the urge to touch his face. Any one of the throng pressing passed them, whispering, sneering, giggling, not even acknowledging them, could be an enemy. He had not forgotten the hair that had made its way on the black market and raped Margaret Cole. 

 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, turning around briskly and stalking to the Transfiguration classroom. “And be sure not to let any of these blockheaded imbeciles catch you with your guard down!”

 

Hermione and Ron ran to catch up with him. He jerked his head minutely, telling them not to ask, not yet. Ron stiffened, his eyes darting around suspiciously, but he forced himself to relax a minute later when Hermione pinched his arm and scowled. 

 

Harry picked at the skin on his lips through every class he had until Potions. They were broken and ripped by evening. Draco was in this class, the only hour available for NEWTs Potions. Ron had left reluctantly, but Hermione was still as his side, frowning darkly into her textbook. The blond was edgy. Harry had been listening all day to hear about the rumor, waiting for the whispers and stares. The relief that the ax had not dropped allowed him to quit destroying his lip, but he now had a plan to focus on.

 

Harry had followed Severus’ instructions to the letter this year. Draco had tutored him a bit, and he was proud to say he no longer thought Potions was a skill of the devil, though he still had no raw talent like Draco or Severus. When the instructions on the board told him to dice the shrivelfigs, he knew that it was not the same thing as chopping. He knew that adding a gram more salt to the solution would not react well with the horn beetle wings. And when his cauldron exploded, he had the fortitude to push Hermione with him out of the way and had a vial of bubertoober paste on the edge of the desk for Severus to neutralize the mist of acid beginning to fog the ceiling. 

 

“Detention, Potter! For clearly not following the directions!”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Severus gave him an odd look but swept back down the tables to check the other students’ works. 

 

“And see me after class,” he threw over his shoulder.

 

“Harry, you did that on purpose,” Hermione hissed in his ear. 

 

He didn’t answer. She looked him straight in the eye, her eyes narrowed like a hawk. “Why?”

 

He ignored her. 

 

She continued to stare at him, trying to figure him out. Harry set to work clearing the mess he had made. When class ended, she tried to lag behind.

 

“I’ll talk to you later, Hermione,” he said meaningfully. 

 

Her eyes darted from Severus to Draco and back to him, and though her expression clouded with thought, he knew she still hadn’t made the connection. Well, having a basilisk running around the pipes was more believable than this. She left and he heard Ron say something past the door before it shut. Harry flung up a silencing ward, and though he was fairly sure Ron and Hermione were standing guard outside, he cast a spell against extendable ears too. 

 

“Harry, what’s going on?” Draco asked, standing.

 

Harry pulled the letters from his pocket. “Someone knows.”

 

He handed them the letter, which Draco snatched then Severus snatched from him. Draco pressed into his side to read them.

 

“This could mean nothing,” Severus hissed. 

 

“It means everything,” Harry said. “It was a school owl. I’m sure of it. And they know about _you_.”

 

“This could mean anything,” Severus snapped. 

 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not. There’s no reason for it to be. This was thought out. They didn’t use any magic. I can’t tell who wrote it.” He collapsed into a seat, holding his head. 

 

“Harry,” Draco said gently. “You might just be overreacting.”

 

“You’re right,” Harry said, startling him. “This is could just be an idiot, and I could be completely overreacting.” The thought had run through his head. “But what if I’m not? This feels different. It’s just… this isn’t like the others. I don’t like this,” he said rather needlessly. 

 

Severus folded the letters. “This will turn into nothing.”

 

“I hope you are right, Severus.”

 

“He’s always right,” Draco said with a grin, taking his hand. 

 

Harry graced him with a wan smile. He brought the hand to his mouth, pressing his bloodied lips to his knuckles. 

 

“Ew,” Draco said, taking his hand back. Harry laughed weakly. “Go tell your friends you went barmy. I’m sure Weasley has popped a vessel by now.”

 

He nodded. He rose, taking the silencing ward down. He immediately heard shouting.

 

“ _Harry James Potter!_ You open this door right this minute!” Hermione yelled, pounding on the door.

 

He opened it. “Hermione! What’s wrong? What hap- Ow!”

 

“What the hell were you bloody thinking?” she said, jutting her finger into his chest. “He could be your bloody father and he’s a _teacher_!”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Don’t you _fuck_ me!”

 

Draco snickered. Hermione snapped her head to him and glared, and he suddenly remembered that she had punched him in the face once. He held up his hands, taking a step back into Severus. 

 

“You did this!” she rounded. “Of all the-” She turned back to Harry. “How did you let him talk you into- And you even- He could go to jail! He’s not- and you aren’t- This is so against the rules!”

 

“I said it’d be the rules,” Harry muttered.

 

Hermione slapped him. He stood in shock for a moment (not the only one) before he turned to face her. She looked more surprised than he did.

 

“Ow!” he said loudly and deliberately.

 

“Well… you deserve it! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Because you’d fucking slap me!” he yelled back. 

 

“Because you didn’t tell me! Harry, I know you were really stressed after the war-”

 

“Oh dear god! You are not going to tell me I’m suffering from some damn syndrome! That has nothing to do with the situation!”

 

“It might! Maybe you just need to do something absurd. I mean, with you and the war and Voldemort and Dumbledore, maybe now you just need to feel independent. Or maybe you feel the need to save them-”

 

“ _Save them_?” he cut in angrily, insulted for their benefit and his own, but she went right over him.

 

“Or maybe you have a need for discipline and-”

 

“I have a need for _what_?” he shouted. 

 

“And maybe being with an older man makes you feel safe because you were never protected by, by, by any of the people that were supposed to,” she floundered.

 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to lose his temper. 

 

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “This is just so unlike you, and I know you wouldn’t just throw yourself into something you didn’t mean. Really, I do and- You always- And even when you started dating Draco, I knew it wasn’t like you were just playing around and he had really changed and- You were always so careful with who you shared your emotions with, but… first Draco and now…” She stared at him as if able to see straight through him just by begging. “This is just so _weird_. He’s a _teacher_. It doesn’t make any sense. Not that your relationships have to make sense,” she said to herself. “I mean I always wondered- And your attraction to Draco- It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it before- But it’s just so…” She looked up at him “Are you sure you’re alright? This isn’t a strange crisis or a cry for attention?”

 

He sighed, pleased that she had tired herself out with speculation. “No,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. 

 

She pressed her fingers to her temple, frowning harshly. “God, Harry, he’s a teacher.”

 

“Hermione,” he said, calm and stern. “Do you think he is taking advantage of me?”

 

She made a sour face and stoutly did not glance at Severus. She shook her head.

 

“Do you think I’m taking advantage of him?”

 

She snorted, not deigning that with an answer. 

 

He crossed his arms. “At least give him the privilege of higher brain function. We’ve known him for eleven years. You know he doesn’t step into anything lightly.”

 

Hermione sighed, massaging her temples. Harry watched her, prepared to defend his choices and Severus’. 

 

“You are such an idiot,” she said again, and he knew he’d been forgiven, though she’d watch him suspiciously for a few days. 

 

“And you’re a control freak.”

 

She grunted agreeably. 

 

“Where’s Ron?” he asked, suddenly noticing that he wasn’t there.

 

“He ran off when I started yelling.”

 

Lucky bastard.

 

“Well, Miss Granger, that was a lovely performance.”

 

Hermione jumped. She looked over at Severus and grimaced. “Oh. That’s just… fantastic.”

 

“Now you know how I feel when you and Ron start going at it.”

 

“I did not need that image,” Draco said, making a face not unlike Hermione’s.

 

“Now that we are all sufficiently grossed out,” Harry said, stepping forward. “Why don’t you tell Ron you haven’t killed me and try to stay out of my love life?” 

 

“I was only concerned-” she argued.

 

“Admirable,” he commented blithely. “And none of your business.”

 

They stared at other, wondering if they going to start arguing again. It came close, but Hermione looked away first. They’d hash it out in private. It wasn’t like he could avoid her. She knew where he slept.

 

“I’ll tell you about the letter later,” he said, standing at the door.

 

“Tell me next time.”

 

“Well, don’t slap me,” Harry responded, still irked. 

 

“Sorry,” she muttered, not sounding particularly so. “You always give me the worst headaches,” she said, pulling open the door. 

 

“Don’t tell Ron.”

 

“Well, duh,” she said, granting him a look over her shoulder. “My god, he’d implode.”

 

She shut the door. Harry stood there a moment, half expecting her to storm back in and yell at him. He released his breath, feeling like he’d escaped the wrath of a dragon.

 

“Well maneuvered, Harry,” Severus said, in a tone that Harry couldn’t tell was serious or sarcastic.

 

“That went better than I expected,” he said. 

 

“She didn’t even curse anything,” Draco added. 

 

“Shock,” Harry told him. He sat on the floor, resting the back of his head against a lab table. “Well, she left out the Oedipus complex and added the Dursleys. I have to admit I hadn’t thought about that. I’m just happy she didn’t say I was confusing Severus for my father.”

 

Severus scowled at him. The comment was disturbing on too many different levels. 

 

“You figure I could transfigure myself as a pet or something and everyone could pretend I disappeared,” he said, leaning on the counter. “I’ll just live down here for the rest of my life.”

 

“I’m sure I have a leash somewhere,” Draco said.

 

“Alcyone would get jealous.”

 

Harry mumbled something unsavory beneath his breath. Draco knelt down beside him.

 

“Still thinking about the letter?”

 

He was quiet for a bit before he gave a resigned sigh. “Yeah. We’ll just have to wait. I just really hope I’m wrong.”

 

He wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwhahahahaha! 
> 
> Sorry, I'm having too much fun.
> 
> The comments were great. Thank you guys and gals and inbetweeners so very much :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost there. This is just some sweet TLC. 
> 
> Warning for slightly rough sex and slight kink.

He wasn’t. A letter came again two days later.

 

_TheY DoNT deSERVE YOU_

 

“Well, you don’t have a blackmailer,” Severus said, setting the letter on his desk. Hermione was frowning, staring at the floor with a hard expression. 

 

“It’s a stalker,” Severus said.

 

Harry snorted. Almost all of Europe stalked him, the Daily Prophet at the forefront.

 

“This is serious, Harry,” Hermione said. “This person won’t stop at money,” she said thoughtfully. “I doubt you’d be safe even if you stopped seeing each other, though that might make Draco and Professor Snape safer.”

 

“No,” both men said at once, startling both Harry and Hermione.

 

“So, what are they going to do?” Harry asked.

 

“They won’t go to the press. Most likely,” she added. “They wouldn’t want anyone to know that you’ve been… tainted,” she said with a distasteful frown. “They probably don’t even want to know. They might have known you were dating them for months before they sent that letter, and they disillusioned themselves into believing it wasn’t true.”

 

“But we’ve been discrete since Severus joined,” Draco said. “They might have found out about me but what about him?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “I thought about it before break, but well, it was rather easy to dismiss.”

 

“Not everyone is as observant as you, Hermione. Not everyone knows me that well.”

 

“No one knows you that well, Harry. It has to be a student.”

 

“Or a teacher,” Draco said.

 

Hermione frowned at him. “I can’t imagine a teacher doing something like this.”

 

“No, because we always abide by the rules don’t we, Miss Granger,” Severus said.

 

She simultaneously blushed and cringed but held her ground. “I still don’t think a teacher would do this. None of them are obsessed with Harry like this.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Draco argued. “Have you been in all their rooms?”

 

“Of course not, but over half the student body is infatuated with him, and most of them were very distressed when he started standing up for the Slytherins. They felt betrayed. Maybe one of them just cracked. Probably one of the quieter ones that hasn’t said anything until now.”

 

“Because it’s always the quiet ones,” Draco scoffed.

 

“No,” Hermione drawled, putting her hands on her hips. “Because they would be terribly in love with Harry but not feel good enough to speak to him directly. They would worship him so they’d be really humble about saying anything bad against him.”

 

“I’m not an idol,” Harry snapped. 

 

“I’m just saying what they could be thinking.”

 

“This seems entirely speculative,” Draco said. “For all we know it could just be Templeton.”

 

Hermione sighed but seemed to be considering his opinion. “You’re right. It’s too early to tell. This is definitely vindictive.”

 

“I don’t think it’s Templeton,” Harry said. “The letter would have glowed red. Even now, it’s still blue which means the person writing it wasn’t angry. Though they weren’t impassioned either,” he mused. 

 

“Or it could mean someone knows how to get around your spell.”

 

“And hero worship doesn’t have to be sexual, Harry,” Hermione added. “They could just admire you.”

 

“Well, this is a grand way of showing it,” he sneered, pushing away from the table. 

 

“It’s late,” Severus said suddenly. “Even for me, one in the morning is pushing it for detention.”

 

Hermione nodded and Harry noticed that there were bags beneath her eyes. “Coming or staying,” she asked him as she stood.

 

He should go. The situation was getting dangerous, and he really didn’t want to press the stalker into going after Draco or Severus. But the rebellious side of him wanted to do just that, to prove that he wasn’t going to allow some stranger to control his relationships. Overall though, it was the yearning to fall asleep in the same bed as his lovers that decided him.

 

“Staying.”

 

She nodded, even giving him a small smile. “I’ll tell Ron.”

 

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

 

She waved as she closed the door behind her. 

 

“So, regretting it yet?” he said, only half joking, not turning around to look at either of them.

 

“Not enough to change my mind,” Draco said honestly. “I’ve had a stalker before. It’s not pleasant, Harry. It’s really scary.”

 

He pressed his thumb into the corner of the letter. “I’ve faced down some of the worst wizards of my time. I’m not going to let some busybody with a crush ruin my life.”

 

“This busybody knows exactly where you are and exactly where we are while they are able to hide in the shadows,” Severus said. 

 

Harry turned around. “Tell me you want out and I’ll leave. I swear I’ll never bother you again, Severus.”

 

Severus’ eyes narrowed. He stood from behind the desk. In that way that only Severus Snape could perfect, he stalked in front of him. Harry wasn’t scared of him. He had lost the ability to believe that Severus could harm him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t cautious and that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous and a bit frightened that the man would tell him to leave. Instead, he pinned Harry to the chair.

 

“Liar.” 

 

Severus controlled the kiss, pushing roughly into Harry’s mouth. He moved their tongues in a parody of thrusts. Harry grabbed the front of his robes, his head tilted back to allow Severus any access he wanted. 

 

“I did not leave you alone with the Dark Lord. I certainly won’t leave you alone against some misguided teenage whelp.”

 

“Alone,” Harry echoed. “This means you’ll be stuck with me. I won’t let you go you know. Even if you come to hate me.”

 

“I have lost the resolve to hate you,” he said, cradling his face. 

 

“ _Sssshehuhethhh_ ,” Harry purred, leaning into his hand.

 

“What does that mean?” Draco asked curiously. 

 

Harry shook his head but answered anyway. “Something incapable of being hunted. I don’t know why I say it.”

 

“Do I have a name?”

 

Harry released his hand to turn to the boy. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel the urge to speak it. It’s never happened without a snake before. It feels like I’m speaking English.”

 

“Can you say Draco in parseltongue?” he asked excitedly.

 

“Draco.”

 

He shook his head. “English.”

 

Harry closed his eyes. It took a while, his lips moving intangibly, before he spoke. “ _Sssshaaahhassshhiri_.” He opened his eyes and blinked. “That wasn’t right. That was… something about a dragon.”

 

“Close enough,” Draco said dismissively. “The way you do it is so much sexier than the Dark Lord’s.”

 

“Uh, thanks?”

 

“Say something dirty,” the blond demanded. 

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and watch it come out in English,” he mumbled.

 

He closed his eyes again. Severus was sitting on the edge of his desk, watching them with hooded eyes. The first thing Harry saw was a viper striking towards his face, which almost made him recoil, but the second was a coral snake wrapping sensually around his wrist. That’s what he held onto. His hand shifted as he imagined the scales, smooth and strong. He imagined the tongue tasting air, the art of red on white on black. Poisonous and beautiful. 

 

He knew where Severus was, and he knew where Draco was, both of them watching him. With his eyes still closed, and a smile on his face, he beckoned Draco closer with the hand wrapped in the coral snake. He felt the brush of his hair as his hand went around his ear. He leaned up to whisper.

 

_“I love the way your body looks when you’re waiting to be fucked. Like sugar, my spoiled boy. I love the way you can never keep your voice down, how you’re so unashamed of your moans, your cries, the pretty little sounds that get caught up in your throat when you’re clenching around my cock. You tremble like a little bird but you moan like a whore.”_

 

As if to iterate his point, Draco moaned. Harry pulled away, smiling. Severus was already behind him, and he backed into his chest. He kept his eyes closed, carrying the illusion. A black king snake, big and deadly, wrapping up around his legs, able to strangle him completely. He swayed against the man, running his hand behind him up around his neck

 

_“My hero, my noir knight. You could blot out the sun. So warm. I love your voice. I love when you tell me to get on my knees. I love how your fingers disappear in and out of my little bird, so long and stained and beautiful. I love how you’re so much stronger than me and so unexpectedly gentle. Sssshehuheth.”_

 

“St-stop or I’m gonna come,” Draco whimpered.

 

Harry could imagine him. He’d have his hand on his prick. Not fisted. He’d start with a finger trailing up. With his thumb, he’d press into the slit at the top. Then he’d make a circle of his thumb and finger and pull it up and down, his other hand reaching behind him to go up his arse. 

 

Harry rutted his backside against Severus. The man’s hands were clasped to his waist, grinding forward just a bit. Harry smiled around his hisses, focused on the image of the coral and king snakes. He chuckled. He might have discovered a fetish here.

 

“ _Make me_ ,” he said in the slur of parseltongue.

 

Though he knew Severus couldn’t understand him, he knew he would decipher the challenge. When Severus growled, Harry was already moving to his hands and knees, and the man could only follow. His hand found Draco’s shoe, and with a smile, as Severus began to divest him of his trousers, he followed the pant leg blindly. Obeying Harry’s tug, Draco fell to his knees. Sure enough, his hand was massaging his cock. Harry flicked it away and took the length into his mouth. 

 

Draco cried out. He collapsed on his bottom, splaying his thighs around Harry’s head. Severus had removed his pants, aided as Harry lifted his knees to kick them off, his shoes and socks discarded when they had first gathered for detention. The dungeon floor was hard on his knees and elbow, his other hand keeping Draco steady at his spine. He could already feel the bruises surfacing on his skin, but it didn’t matter because a moment later Severus had two fingers up his arse with their favorite lube and he was humming around Draco’s prick. 

 

He wondered how it would feel to have a snake coiling around his cock. His first thought was “Oh my god” and his second was that the Slytherins had horribly corrupted him. The kink startled him so badly that his eyes flew open and he gagged a tiny bit on Draco’s prick.

 

“Keep sucking,” Severus ordered. 

 

He held to the threads of the illusion, though the peace of it was completely blown. Draco’s fingers coiled in his hair. He licked a trail up from his balls, making the boy shiver and Severus snarl, before taking him into his mouth again. He spread his legs further for Severus, whose clutch on his inner thigh had broken skin. He paused in his bobbing when Severus guided his cock in, sinking forward. He gave a cry, the pleasure already outlasting the pain. Draco’s grip on his hair was brutal, but he didn’t push him down, for which Harry was very grateful. 

 

It was difficult to time the thrusts with the bobs, and Harry almost bit once. Severus seemed to realize the problem and slowed the thrusts to jabs, which made Harry squirm instead of rock. He felt movement above him, Draco’s grip lessening a tiny bit. Severus paused a smidge after rolling his hips, and he knew they were kissing. 

 

He hollowed his cheeks, taking his hand to roll Draco’s balls. He heard the blond disengage with a smack. Of course, Severus had retribution by pulling out and ramming himself back in, jarring Harry’s spine. They came in something of a chain, Draco first, then Harry and lastly Severus, who grabbed Harry by his scalp, forcing his mouth from a limp cock and bending him backwards to finish. 

 

Harry was bleeding and bruised and completely satisfied. He sat back, leaning against Severus. He brought up his knee, easing a bit of the throbbing in his arse. Severus’ pants moved him gently. He chuckled lightly.

 

“I think we’ve developed a new kink.”

 

In a surprising gesture, Severus wrapped his arm around Harry’s chest. “You have to be careful, Harry.”

 

“I will be.”

 

“What if they want this sort of thing from you, Harry?” Draco said, a surge of fear leaking into his voice, not even bothering to tuck in his wet dick. “Not the snake thing but just… this?”

 

“You mean rape?”

 

He said it gently, but both men flinched.

 

“I’m not weak. I know to check for love potions, and I won’t meekly follow some random person into an abandoned classroom. Even if I somehow get cornered, I know how to fight.”

 

“You can’t control these things,” Severus said. “You can’t control these people.”

 

Harry sighed. “Even if… something like that happened, we’d get through it right? I mean you won’t just throw me out.”

 

“Of course not,” Draco said with a grimace.

 

Harry relaxed against Severus’ chest, feeling Severus’ cum leaking from between his thighs. He smiled, wondering when that had ceased to bother him. “If Hermione’s right and it’s some rabid fan that feels betrayed, they’ll try to appeal to me eventually. They’ll take a few shots at us, but we can survive them. And if Draco’s right and it’s someone with a grudge like Templeton then I can handle it. As long as they don’t go to the press about Severus, we can handle it. Neither of you are defenseless either. Even if I miss something, one of you will see it. And now that Hermione knows we’ll probably have it settled by the end of the month anyway,” he said, smiling. 

 

“You know I love you, right?” Draco said, eyes shining with something that seemed more fear than love.

 

Harry got a choked expression that was really entirely unprecedented. He ducked his head, blushing, and touched Severus’ forearm lightly.

 

“I… I love you too, Draco. I love both of you.”

 

Severus rested his chin in the space where Harry’s neck met his shoulder, his arm tightening. He stared at Draco. Harry turned his head slightly, resting his fingertips lightly against his temple, a soft smile on his features. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos. I feed off those!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual harassment in this chapter. Please be aware and respect your boundaries, but Harry makes it out ok.

It was a long three days before the next letter came (on a Monday of all days).

 

_we lOve yOu MoRE_

 

Harry stared at it a second. It didn’t seem that ominous. He looked up and was startled into silence by the expression on Hermione’s face. She was staring blankly into her plate, her shoulders slumped.

 

“Hermione?” he called and snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Hey, Ron what’s…” he trailed off.

 

The boy was in the same daze as his girlfriend, his eggs slipping off his spoon. Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table that morning, and Harry looked across the Hall. He seemed perfectly fine, arguing about something with Zabini. Looking around, everyone at the Gryffindor table was staring blankly into their dishes. He stood up, looking behind him to see that the Ravenclaws were in the same state, as were the Hufflepuffs, though none of the Slytherins were. He looked up at the head table to see Professor Snape watching him intensely and Professor Sinistra looking around the Hall in confusion. Even the remaining professors looked like drones. 

 

“Wha-”

 

His question was cut off as Ron suddenly grabbed hold of his sleeve. Brown eyes looked up through a dull film. He smiled, clinging to Harry’s arm, and Harry felt his stomach drop. 

 

“Harry…”

 

“R-Ron?”

 

“Harry, your eyes are beautiful,” Hermione said, reaching across the table to try to touch his robes. 

 

“What are you-”

 

Ron gave a firm yank and planted his lips on top of his. Harry reared his fist back and punched him. He sat there in shock, hand raised to his mouth. His shock cost him as a Hufflepuff grabbed him, toppling him over the bench. He fought against the hands, managing to keep his head from striking the floor. His legs tangled in the bench, kicking the table. A plate smashed and chaos erupted.

 

This couldn’t be happening. Harry ignored the tongue forcing itself into his mouth and pressing against the inside of his cheeks, focusing entirely on finding his wand. Students were crawling over his legs, touching him and trying to get to his flesh. He touched his wand. With a wordless spell, he blasted the mob back and freed his legs. The quickest path was over the table. He climbed up and heard both Severus and Draco call out to him among the other breathy exaltations of his name. 

 

He caved to his second instinct, his first to tear a hole in the next person that touched him, and bolted across the table for the door. He avoided the hands that grabbed for him, kicking some cursed Gryffindors in the face. But six hands snaked at once around his calves, and he fell. The remaining plates and goblets scattered, a fork crawling uncomfortably into his back. He felt himself land on the blade of an upturned knife, slicing down his flank. Lavender crawled on top of his chest and almost ripped apart his scalp tearing his head back to kiss him. His shirt ripped open.

 

Harry clamped his teeth down on the girl’s tongue. She drew away with a cry of pain, blood gushing from her mouth. Harry freed his arm and stunned the Hufflepuff that tried to take the girl’s place. They swarmed him. Panic threatened in the base of his skull. He came so close to loosing his head and screaming, tearing at them with his hands.

 

Other people were sending out stunners and hexes, but Harry couldn’t see who through the bodies. The person on top of him took a curse in the face. He took the reprieve and made another dash for the doors. Shakily, he aimed for the crowd that stood to ambush him, but another spell had already blasted them out of the way. He looked to see Pansy Parkinson yelling at him to keep moving. The doors were starting to close, Severus and Sinistra making obvious effort to keep the crowd contained. Harry didn’t look back again, belting down the corridor. The doors slammed behind him, screams erupting through the wood and carrying through the corridor. Harry didn’t stop, running and running and running until the agonized wails from the doors of the Great Hall were silent.

 

o.O.o

 

Harry sat on the Quidditch pitch, his arms flung around his knees and his wand tight in his hand. The adrenaline had left him with shivers, a great deal of pain, and not a few tears. His jaw ached. His limbs felt torn, and there were scratches and bruises everywhere. He could still taste Lavender’s blood against his teeth and Ron’s tongue. 

 

He leaned over and puked. 

 

An unholy headache was pounding through his temples and the back of his neck, glaring against his eyes. It was winter and the wind was uncomfortable against the tension in his joints and muscles. He breathed sourly in the space between his knees and torso. When he could tolerate sitting no more, he crawled upright. It was hard entering the castle, harder than he thought it would be, watching from every corner for signs of life and pressing himself into the shadows of the stone. 

 

His heart was hammering in his chest again, and he was much too unsteady. However, he could no longer remain on the pitch. He had thought the open ground would be a comfort, but he instead felt unprotected. Though able to see every angle from the castle, the feeling of something at his back, in the sky, even underground, had upset him much more deeply than he thought it would, certainly more than it should.

 

Now, he wanted only Severus’ room. He slunk through the corridors, his shoes spelled silent and his magic preceding him around the corners and stairs. 

 

“Harry!” someone shouted behind him.

 

He aimed his wand, the tip glowing red before the voice registered. “Oh god, Draco.” He lowered his wand, covering his face and collapsing against the wall. Draco ran to him, and Harry could not stop the flinch when he reached out to touch him.

 

Just as quickly, Harry grabbed his sleeve, forcing his hand back into place. “I didn’t- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I couldn’t help it.”

 

“Harry, it’s alright. Shh, calm down,” he said gently, tentatively pulling him to his chest.

 

Harry’s breath shuddered, and he buried his face in Draco’s scent. Harry suddenly dragged him all the way down, igniting a fierce hold around his shoulders. It was both painful and possessive, but Draco didn’t say anything. 

 

“I’m ok,” Harry said, voice muffled in his robes. “I’m ok. I just need a moment. I’ll be fine in a second.”

 

Draco raised his hand to his hair, startled to feel that a huge chunk had been pulled out and was bloody. The blond started to shake. 

 

“You need to go to Madam Pomfrey.”

 

Harry tensed, everything in him screaming rejection. He didn’t want to be around people. He just wanted Draco and Severus. Nobody else could touch him. 

 

But he knew he was being irrational. It had to have been a spell, and if Severus had released the doors and allowed Draco to leave then it must be under control. He pushed his hand firmly against Draco’s back, feeling the indent in his spine.

 

“Harry, you have to be healed,” Draco said, panic creeping into his voice. 

 

“Alright,” he said shakily. He coughed and said it again. “Alright. Just… don’t leave ok?”

 

“Like I could,” the blond laughed. The sound broke, and his voice dissolved into trembles.

 

Slowly, Draco eased Harry into standing. Harry wanted to kiss him, but he felt the blood and Ron’s tongue and he just couldn’t. The more they walked, the more Harry calmed himself. The panic slid away, left with just a weary sense of horror. Harry was not of the mind to ask what had happened or even if everyone was ok. He leaned into Draco’s side, and moved the acidic taste of his bile and Lavender’s blood around with his tongue until he didn’t feel the urge to cry anymore. Draco held his hand, and he never would he have expected that to be such a blessing either.

 

The infirmary was full of people that were trampled or hexed in the fray. They all paled simutaneously when Harry walked in, watching as if they thought he was going to curse them.

 

He released Draco’s hand and stepped forward. “It’s not your fault and I’m not mad,” he said clearly. “And it looks like you got hurt more than me,” he added more softly, gazing at all the injuries. 

 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Susan said, her head wrapped in a bandage.

 

Harry stepped away from her but gave a smile. “I’m fine, Susan. I’m just sorry all you got dragged into it. Did you hit your head?”

 

She nodded and lapsed into silence, still looking guilty. 

 

“Where’s the pain?” he said, sitting beside her on the bed.

 

She pointed to the back, wincing. Harry’s hand hovered over the area tenderly.

 

“Here?” he asked and she nodded again. He pulled out his wand and waved it a little.

 

“Nothing’s internal and you don’t have a concussion. If you let Draco heal it, you won’t have to wait for Pomfrey.”

 

“Malfoy?” she squeaked in surprise, her eyes darting between them.

 

Harry gave her an easy smile. “He’s got a hand for healing cuts. I mean I could try but your head might explode. Do you mind, Draco?” Harry asked. 

 

Draco thought it was a little late to be asked but acquiesced anyway. Bones shrank from him when he approached, but she looked to Harry and stilled. Her hair was matted with blood but the cut wasn’t that deep. He healed it quickly.

 

“Now you just need to wash your hair and you’re fine,” Harry said.

 

“Yeah,” she responded weakly, testing the area.

 

“I didn’t give you brain damage,” Draco snapped. 

 

She jumped and dropped her hand. Harry leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She blushed and looked down.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to scoff at her, but a look from Harry stopped him.

 

“You’re welcome,” he said grudgingly. 

 

She scurried off.

 

“Poppy’s busy here,” Harry said, eyes sad.

 

Draco grabbed his hand a tad roughly, pulling him from the room. “Severus then.”

 

Harry allowed himself to be dragged from the infirmary, too weak to put up resistance and too agreeable to seeing Severus anyway. Seeing how ashamed everyone looked and how banged up they were made him realize that he wasn’t the only victim in this. 

 

Draco watched the halls carefully before dragging Harry into Severus’ quarters. Harry went immediately to the bathroom, drinking from the faucet and spitting. He did it about five more times before just leaning over the sink. When he looked up, Draco was watching him. He wiped his mouth and turned off the sink.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Draco shook his head, seeming incapable of speech. He approached Harry but hesitated. The Gryffindor looked away. For a moment, they stood awkwardly in the bathroom, not knowing how to overcome the moment. 

 

“We should fix your wounds.”

 

Harry nodded. They sat on Severus’ couch. Draco worked at the wounds on his head, healing the scratches all over his face. Harry sat passive, allowing cool fingers to run over his skin. When Draco finished, he started to remove his shirt. Draco released a choked sob and he stopped. Bite marks and finger bruises littered his chest. Teeth had broken flesh at points. Strange, that he hadn’t even noticed. 

 

He started to leave, but Draco pressed his hand roughly into the middle of his torso and healed the marks and the slash from the knife so quickly that the skin blistered. The air whooshed out of him, and suddenly Draco’s arms were around his shoulders as well. The blond demanded a kiss, scoring the exposed skin on his back with his nails. Their chests met with enough force to make Harry wince. Draco grabbed both sides of his face, his palms threatening to bend his cheekbones. 

 

Harry understood the desperation, the undeniable need to overrule all the other hands and mouths on him. He didn’t think he could take it though. He grabbed Draco, wrapping his arms around him to hold him still. Draco’s hands scattered, weak, abused noises escaping his throat. Harry held on. Eventually, Draco surrendered, lying his weight against him and burying his face in his throat. 

 

“I was so scared. All I could do was watch. I had to watch…”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said. “And I’m ok.”

 

Draco leaned back, wiping his face. A determined expression had overtaken his features. Without a word, he helped Harry out of his shirt and continued healing, applying salves when his own magic would not suffice.

 

It was a half hour when Severus found them. Harry started to greet him, a relieved smile on his face, when Hermione and Ron shuffled past him.

 

“Oh Harry, thank God,” Hermione said, collapsing unceremoniously on the floor beside Draco. “You weren’t… Oh God.”

 

“No, just pawed at,” he said with a grimace. “Actually, Pansy might have saved me. I almost didn’t make it out the door.”

 

“All the Slytherins helped,” Ron said. He rubbed his head, refusing to look Harry in the eye.

 

He still had a wicked bruise across his face, his eye swollen. “Ron, didn’t you get that looked at?” Harry asked.

 

He paled and shuffled his feet. “I’m going to let it heal naturally,” he said quietly. 

 

Harry felt all the tension melt out of him, his face softening. He looked away. “You berk,” he said, shaking his head. 

 

Ron looked at him and smiled. Just like that, the awkwardness dispersed, the invasion forgotten.

 

“So what’s the plan?” Ron said. He started to sit on the couch, remembered it was Severus’, and stumbled.

 

Harry looked up to Severus, who had said nothing, his expression closed, then down at Hermione.

 

“It was a blanket charm,” she said. “But the Slytherins were excluded. Even the Slytherin professors. We found the runes in the corners.”

 

“That’s great,” Harry said. “So we can track their magic now.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “The runes were bought. Dark magic. They had already been pumped full. We might be able to disentangle the timing spell but really the magicks are so convoluted that we’d probably end of destroying the signature by trying to pull it out.”

 

Harry gaped at her. “So this person cursed the entire Hall and the professors… and _they’re going to get away with it_!”

 

“We can trim down the suspects,” Severus said, moving to sit at his desk. “This is someone with enough money to throw about buying rune stones already full of magic and it’s someone with the patience and practice to study the signatures of the entire Slytherin house, Professor Sinistra, and myself to take us out of the charm.”

 

“So it’s someone patient, smart, and obsessed,” Harry said, taking the letter from his pocket. 

 

He handed it to Hermione. Draco read it beside her.

 

“That rules out Templeton,” Draco mumbled. He handed it off to Severus. “And Goodchild.”

 

“And the attraction is sexual.”

 

“It’s not anyone from Slytherin,” Draco said, and they all agreed, which was really weird. 

 

“Harry,” Hermione said in that voice that meant she had spent a lot of time thinking about something and he probably wasn’t going to like what she was going to say. He and Ron exchanged a look.

 

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly. 

 

She nibbled her lip and met his gaze. “Maybe you should move down to the dungeons for a while.”

 

“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” Ron cursed after a moment.

 

“Language, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said. 

 

“Well, it’s obviously the safest place for him,” Hermione said defensively. “And it would emphasize how ridiculous this whole thing is. And it would make people who think Slytherin needs to be closed for good hesitate a bit.”

 

“And it would also make Mr. Potter a much greater target,” Severus said in a cold voice.

 

Her face was pained but she nodded. 

 

“It would piss off the stalker,” Harry said thoughtfully. “So far everything’s been really thought out and nothing’s really hurt me.”

 

They gave him incredulous looks, and he blushed. Still, those hands could have been aiming for his pants instead of his face. 

 

“Harry, are you completely deranged?” Draco sneered at him. 

 

“Well, he’s hardly in Gryffindor Tower anymore anyway,” Ron said, crossing his arms. “Everyone in the dorm thinks he’s got another girl tucked away somewhere to avoid the crap that went on with Ginny.”

 

Harry gaped at him. “Why didn’t I know that?”

 

“Because I punched Mauchery for trying to tease you about it, and Ginny inverted his… er, she made him very uncomfortable every time he even thought about it.”

 

“Er, thanks,” he said awkwardly. 

 

He waved it off. “That’s your business,” he said dismissively. 

 

“I’m glad I never pissed off your sister,” Draco said. 

 

Ron made a face as if he wasn’t sure what to say to that. Harry could tell he was stuck between taking it as a compliment and ignoring him. Harry decided to intervene for him.

 

“Alright, I have bruises on my bum so unless you want to watch Draco heal them, I suggest you leave.”

 

Ron made a face and moved towards the door like someone had started a fire. Hermione shook her head and followed. 

 

“Why is Snape staying?” he heard Ron asked Hermione before the door closed.

 

He didn’t hear her reply, but he gave her luck, smiling at them both. 

 

“Are you actually considering staying in the dungeons?” Draco asked. 

 

“You will not be used as bait,” Severus snarled, glaring at him. 

 

“I want some control over the situation!” Harry shouted abruptly, startling them. He trembled. “I’ve had god knows how many people’s hands on me. I feel dirty and used and I’m pissed. I feel like someone is watching me all the time, and I don’t feel safe anywhere but in this room. I’m exhausted. I’m trying really hard not to throw a tantrum, and I don’t want to argue with you. I’m not scared… anymore,” he added honestly, “but I’m about to go insane.”

 

“You think we aren’t concerned as well?” Severus said, standing.

 

“Severus, please,” he begged unabashedly. “I really, really don’t want argue with you.”

 

“I will not put you in danger,” he said adamantly, though his eyes seemed conflicted.

 

“Then can you put me in a bath?” he said, looking up at him. “Can’t we talk about it when I don’t have fifty people’s sweat and spit on me?”

 

“Severus,” Draco pleaded, knowing how stubborn the man was but not wanting him to think they were ganging up on him either.

 

Severus strode from the desk and embraced him. The boy sighed, his arms coming around his back. He couldn’t say it, but Severus was just as scared as Draco. Harry could feel it in the tightness of his arms. Harry knew he probably wanted to pick him up in his arms, but he was glad that he was allowed to walk to the bathroom. Maybe Severus understood how helpless today made him feel. They didn’t kiss, but the trip was accompanied by small, possessive touches. Harry knew they had both felt just as helpless as he had, unable to protect him.

 

After the tub was full, Harry allowed Severus to wash his back. The bruises and abrasions that still littered his thighs, bottom, and back were ignored for the moment as he struggled just to get clean. The tub might have been able to squeeze two, but there was no way for the three of them to pile in it. 

 

“We’ll get through it,” Harry said. 

 

“But what will happen until then?” Draco whispered. “What if… what if this breaks you?”

 

Harry looked at him. Severus continued washing his back silently.

 

“Come here.”

 

Draco scooted along the rim, reaching Harry’s hand. Harry coaxed him down, and after a moment, Draco allowed himself to slide into his lap, clothes and all into the bath, his legs over the rim. It was warm, and Harry’s arms were strong, bracing his back.

 

“I’ll be fine, Draco,” he said gently. “Whatever happens.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Severus said. 

 

“Look at me,” Harry commanded, and Severus did, because he had never heard that voice before.

 

“There is no place in the world I would rather be than with you two. If I somehow have to leave, if there is any way, _any way_ , to return, I will. I will not leave you alone.”

 

And Severus had to believe him. Against all his reason, he had to. Because no one but Harry could be that sincere. 

 

“And if you die?” he heard himself ask. 

 

“I’ve died once before. I will not give up, Severus. Even when I had every reason to stay down, I didn’t. Now that I have all the reason in the world to live, do you think I would give that up?” he said incredulously. 

 

Jade eyes held like snares. Severus felt wetness trail down his face. He started and raised a hand to his face, realizing he was crying. Draco was sobbing quietly into Harry’s chest, holding tightly to his arms. His Slytherin tie floated above the water. 

 

Harry’s kindness was hard, as it always was. His hand rested on his cheek, gem-like eyes evanescent with something that made Severus feel bare.

 

“We survive, Severus. It’s what we’ve done all our lives. No one can take that away.”

 

Severus followed Harry’s hand and felt his lips captured. He had never felt so… visible. Only Dumbledore had seen this deep, but he had not held him, had not granted him forgiveness for who he was, had not accepted him as if thankful for even his flaws. How could he when he needed his guilt to win the war? He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Harry.

 

“You won’t lose me,” Harry said against his lips. “I’m not something you can lose.”

 

_You promise?_ he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He rested their foreheads together, trying to memorize this moment. His hand reached for Draco’s damp hair, pressing them all together. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a simple one
> 
> Sorry for the lateness!!!!!

The announcement that Harry would be staying with the Slytherins until the culprit who cursed the Hall was found went about as well as could be expected. Rumors started that Harry was turning Dark, trying to gather troops from Voldemort’s cast-offs. It had been hinted in the paper, but this was the first time it was taken with any credibility, even by people he thought knew him. 

 

Of course, Hermione and the Weasleys supported him whole-heartedly. The reception into Slytherin house was awkward, and no one but Draco seemed to know what to do with him. Harry found out rather suddenly that most the house had already suspected that the two of them were dating or at least fucking. Now, living with a group of people who played facial expressions like Ron played chess, they couldn’t really hide it anymore. Slytherins surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly) were a whole lot more apt at keeping their house relations surreptitious, and it became something of a Slytherins-only secret. Which meant Draco had no trouble plopping down in Harry’s lap while he was doing homework in the common room. It didn’t help that Zambini and Pansy had decided on some one-way truce with him and made leering comments whenever he was in earshot. 

 

After about the fifth time that they had made him blush, he switched their underwear with his wand. They petered off mid-sentence, odd expressions on their faces as they ran off to their dormitories to change back. 

 

“Pansy wears a thong,” Draco whispered in his ear, amused.

 

Harry was part-disgusted to know that, part-irritated that Draco knew, and part-humored that Blaise had a string crawling up his arse. They came back down five minutes later wanting to know where he knew that spell, admittedly impressed. 

 

Harry confessed later that night to both Severus and Draco, when they both asked how he was fairing in the house, that the Sorting Hat had originally wanted to put him in Slytherin before he convinced it otherwise. 

 

“You don’t _convince_ the Sorting Hat,” Severus scoffed.

 

“Well, it said I’d do well there. I asked it again second year and it said the same thing.”

 

“If you’re this deranged in Gryffindor, I think I’d be scared to see what a Slytherin version of you would be like,” Draco said.

 

Harry gave a maniacal laugh that got him hit with a pillow. A fourth letter did not come and Harry had to wonder if perhaps the stalker actually regretted what he’d done. 

 

It was two weeks after Harry moved to the dungeon, with neither hide nor hair of the stalker, when Harry was interrupted in writing his potion essay by a very loud and very familiar whistle. 

 

“Been a while since we’ve been in here, mate.”

 

“Three years, four?”

 

“Three and a half I figure it. First time through the front door though.”

 

“Fred? George?”

 

The twin redheads, who were giving two saucy winks to a rather disgusted Daphne Greengrass, turned. Cheshire cat grins erupted on their faces, and they strutted hand in hand to the couch Harry occupied. 

 

“Hiya, gov’na,” they sang, adjusting into an accent.

 

They settled down to either side of him, staring at him with the same trickster grins they sported when Harry had first met them. Though there was a softness borne of time that eased the worry of being beneath both their attentions, especially cornered between them, which was like sitting between two wildfires. 

 

“How’d you get in here?” he asked incredulously. 

 

“Careful, Harry, or we’ll think you don’t-

 

“-want us in here.”

 

“And that would be completely unreasonable,” he teased, recalling all the trouble these two had gotten him into. 

 

They smirked. 

 

Harry didn’t even try to resume work on his essay, knowing Fred would spill his ink and George would nudge his elbow. The shop was prospering splendidly, and they’d come to deliver Harry’s share as their silent partner. Every time they did this, he tried to refuse the gold. It was bloody ridiculous. They’d already paid back the gold he’d lent them, that stupid tournament money soiled in Cedric’s blood. He saw no reason in accepting money he hadn’t even earned, but they would cajole and threaten and blackmail until he’d cede. He didn’t even offer anything more than a token protest now. 

 

Usually they just gave it to the goblins in Gringotts. They knew by now where to put it. He had to wonder why they came in person. 

 

“To kidnap you of course,” Fred said, flinging his arm around his shoulder. 

 

Harry grunted, feeling a tad bit uncomfortable under his arm. The twins’ fondness for him wasn’t quite as brotherly as Ron’s, and they had made no secret of their interest in him. He usually just ignored it, but now it was making him feel irrationally guilty.

 

“And where exactly are you kidnapping me?”

 

“The Pyre,” George said pleasantly. 

 

Harry frowned. “The one where you lost me in the dumpster.”

 

“That’s the one,” he grinned. 

 

Well it was Friday, he reasoned. And he hadn’t done anything foolish in a while. He suddenly had an image of Draco in the middle of a mass of bodies, the strobe light illuminating his hair, his arms stretched above his head, the darkness revealing in patches the porcelain flesh around his waist.

 

He swallowed. “Only if I can take Draco.”

 

The twins blinked then released knowing smiles. 

 

“So _that’s_ who struck your fancy,” George said, grinning from ear to ear. 

 

“By all means,” Fred agreed.

 

“Maybe he can get you to dance-”

 

“-without drowning you in gin.”

 

While the twins went by Gryffindor Tower to steal Ron, Ginny and Hermione, Harry put up his notes and quills, trying to figure out how in the blue blazes he was going to get Severus to allow him and Draco to steal out of Hogwarts. Of course, they were perfectly capable of sneaking about on their own, but he knew Severus would find out come morning and he had no desire to make the man feel betrayed, or worse, left out. 

 

Severus probably danced very well, though he doubted he listened to the sort of tripe blasting out of the bass speakers of The Pyre. Harry didn’t much care for the hackneyed rhythm or the crude lyrics, but they were certainly the best to dance to. The electronic clubs that the twins took him to just didn’t quite cut it like The Pyre. Even though he had been left drunk in the dumpster in the back alley, the club was still his favorite. 

 

Severus and Draco were brewing, something that Harry usually tried not to interrupt. It was a little after nine now, and The Pyre opened at eleven. The main DJ probably wouldn’t come on until a little after one. He just hoped four hours was long enough to convince them both that this would be something entertaining and not in the least bit dangerous for Severus’ benefit. 

 

The lab was dark, which led Harry to believe that the potion was light sensitive. He slipped in, shutting the door quickly behind him. He fumbled for a moment while his eyes adjusted. There was a huge cauldron in the middle of the floor, popping up green bubbles over a fire. Draco was stirring it was a large iron ladle while Severus monitored the heat and tossed in ingredients.

 

It was a scene that might have popped up from the middle of Macbeth. Harry stifled the urge to start singing maniacally and hailing Severus and Draco as kings of Scotland.

 

“Something you needed, Harry?” Severus asked, his voice not so different than Draco’s ladle, dark and corrosive.

 

He coughed slightly, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Uh, is this going to need your attention much longer?”

 

“Did something happen?” Draco asked, turning his head but not pausing in the even stirs. 

 

“No, but, well, the twins came to the common room and invited me to go clubbing.”

 

“What’s clubbing?” Draco asked at the same time Severus spoke.

 

“And you are asking our permission like a beaten mongrel because…”

 

Harry stiffened. “I’m not asking permission. I’m inviting Draco to come with us, and I’m telling you about it so you don’t worry.”

 

It came out more waspish than he intended, and he saw Severus tense. 

 

“By all means, go out and have _fun_ ,” he said, rolling the word like a curse. “No one’s stopping you. Two weeks is hardly any time at all for a stalker to think up of something.”

 

Harry winced. He had approached this badly. He had come in treating Severus like his teacher instead of his lover. He sighed and pulled himself up onto a stool, the light of the fire lower than the strange glow of the green potion, which looked fairly radioactive. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

 

“And what did you intend, Potter?”

 

Harry stared at him calmly over the potion, though Severus kept his eyes on the heat. Draco’s eyes darted between them, stuck stirring the potion.

 

“I didn’t deserve that,” Harry said softly.

 

Severus didn’t say anything, but Harry took his silence to mean he was somewhat apologetic, though probably not sorry. 

 

“The club’s called The Pyre. It’s in London and it’s completely muggle. I don’t think the stalker is gone,” he said, frowning. “But I don’t see the harm in leaving just for the night. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione are coming with us. If something would happen, it would happen here.”

 

“A laudable argument. Rest assured. The potion can be stirred with a spell. I won’t keep Draco from you any longer.”

 

Draco looked at Harry, making a quick motion with his eyes to fix the mess he’d made. 

 

Harry hopped off the stool. “I was wondering, if after we graduate, if you’d like to see a picture show.”

 

Severus sneered at him. “There is no need to appease me, Harry. I’m a grown man and have no desire to watch teenagers rut against each other on a dance floor.”

 

“There’s a theatre in Bristol that likes to show old black and white films and westerns,” he said, ignoring him. “Draco would probably hate it,” he said, giving the blond an easy smile.

 

Draco had no clue what he was taking about but shrugged as if to say it was probably true. 

 

“Neville took me once,” he continued. As always, thought of the boy burned a hole in his chest, but Severus started to listen to him. “I don’t really know what your tastes are, but you seem like the Clint Eastwood type of bloke. I can’t really keep up with your brewing but it’s rather easy to sit through a picture.”

 

It was quiet a moment, the only sound the gulping of the potion, which Harry supposed could probably eat him if it wanted to.

 

“I… apologize… for snapping at you,” Severus said slowly.

 

Harry was surprised he’d said that aloud. He smiled, happy that Severus cared enough to make sure he wasn’t offended. 

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Severus marveled once again at how Harry could see right through him, knowing just the right words to say to make him happy but not make him feel placated. 

 

It was easy for Draco and him to bond over potions. They were both naturals at it and understood the fierce, critical world of brewing. He knew that being sexually compatible wouldn’t last that long, but it was Harry that made the stretch to breach the world of desire into family. 

 

Hermione knocked on the door thirty minutes later asking if they were ready. It was interesting that it had taken longer for the twins to convince her to go than it took for Harry to convince his Slytherins.

 

“We’re going to eat first and change clothes at the Burrow,” Ron said after Harry warded the light from entering the room.

 

Draco probably didn’t want to be surrounded by Gryffindors. He put up with enough sitting at the table in the Great Hall and suffering the glares in the common room. Even if the Weasleys wouldn’t treat him badly (probably), they were Harry’s friends and he didn’t want Draco to feel uncomfortable. 

 

“We’ll eat here. We’ll meet up with you at The Pyre later.”

 

“You sure?” Ron said, having never heard Harry refuse an invite to the Burrow.

 

“Let’s go, Harry,” Draco said behind him, startling him. “I have to admit I’m curious.”

 

“No badmouthing my home,” Ron started, glaring at him.

 

Draco sniffed at him. “I have some manners.”

 

“Alright then,” Harry said, interceding before either could really have a go. “Give me a sec.”

 

The door closed and he turned around to Draco. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

Draco smiled, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Of course I didn’t. I never do anything I have to. I wanted to.”

 

Harry kissed him. He darted across the lab to Severus, who was directing the ladle with a wave of his hand. He reached up and pecked his cheek.

 

“We might crash at the Burrow if we get too drunk. Otherwise we’ll probably be in by breakfast.”

 

“I’m not your wife,” he snapped, though it was half-hearted at best. 

 

“It’s called courtesy,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand by the door. “But you’re such a mother hen I’d feel guilty not telling you anyway.”

 

He pulled them both out the door before Severus could respond, the sliver of light there and gone before it could reach the potion. He closed his mouth, staring at the door. Then, he smiled, adding rosemary to the cauldron.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some light mush and some light plot-like substance

“Muggles have places for this?” Draco yelled over the roar of the music.

 

Harry smiled, placing his hands on Draco’s hips, delighting in the motions of his muscles. He saw Ron and Hermione disappearing in and out of the crowd. This was one of the few times that Hermione seemed to lose some of her inhibitions. He could see Ron smiling down at her, half his cheek lost in her uncontrollable curls. Ginny was probably with one of the more experienced dancers towards the center of the throng. He had no clue where the twins were, probably torturing some poor homophobic bloke they picked out of the crowd. 

 

Harry could tell that he and Draco were getting some stares, but he really couldn’t give a fuck. He bent his head down to press his mouth against Draco’s shoulder. The Slytherin accommodated, flinging his head back. Already, they were hot and sweating, the close air so much more humid among the pressed bodies than in the winter outside. He loved that salty smell like arousal, bittersweet and so absolutely Draco. It was pure flesh, unlike Severus, who was slightly more musky and earthy like sandalwood. 

 

He pressed his hands into the juncture of his thighs as his glasses cutting slightly into his nose. 

 

“You better fuck me tonight, Harry Potter.”

 

Harry grinned against his neck. He could not resist the small bite he made, licking the slight abrasion to taste the salt, then sucking. Draco gasped and moaned his name. Harry wondered what it would feel like to dance like this with Severus behind him. The thought was much too appealing and he had to stop.

 

They were bringing Severus next time if they had to drag him by his hair. A few glamour charms would let him fit right in.

 

“Love you,” he mumbled into Draco’s ear.

 

He felt Draco’s pleasure through the damp shirts and the small boundary of flesh, in the way his hands gripped his hair possessively and he turned his head to bury his nose in his nape. 

 

“Love you, too.”

 

o.O.o

 

The time Severus decided to get up was when Draco and Harry returned. He knew it was somewhere around five in the morning, which is when he usually started to call for morning tea and check last night’s potions. But, strangely, he relaxed his body and did not move, listening. They didn’t sound particularly drunk. He heard shoes hit the floor, but when they opened the door, it was quietly and without the insipid giggles that accompanied alcohol.

 

Harry cracked the door, his face nothing more than a silhouette, Draco crowding behind him. They shuffled in, limping slightly and their heads hanging. Harry made a show of quietly closing the door, holding the handle so the lock would slip into place silently. Draco was waving on his feet, but he waited for Harry to tiptoe to the other side of the bed. 

 

They climbed in to either side of him, still in last night’s sweaty and stiff attire. Harry had only enough fortitude to remove his glasses before slipping into the warmth of his side. He released a long sigh, muscles lagging into a half-collapse. He rested his head on Severus’ shoulder, taking no more space.

 

Draco nestled up to him, holding onto his arm like a toddler. He pressed his legs close, bringing himself flush.

 

“Morn’n,” Harry groused in a whisper against his nightshirt, making it sound an awful lot like good night. 

 

“Good morning,” Severus replied clearly though he kept his voice low. 

 

Draco was already asleep, his breathing calm and even. Harry rested his fingers lightly over Severus’ jaw line, then let the arm fall around his neck to lie at his collar. 

 

“S’nice,” he muttered tiredly.

 

Severus had no idea what he thought was nice and Harry was asleep before he could say anything.

 

He could lie in for another hour.

 

o.O.o

 

“Ow!”

 

“I haven’t touched you yet.”

 

“Oh… Ow!”

 

“Oh honestly, Ronald!” Hermione shouted, swatting his leg with the cloth.

 

Harry snickered from the corner.

 

Four days after Harry had taken Draco dancing, the Golden Trio had gotten into a fight with Goodchild and Templeton, who had formed somewhat of a pact for Potter-bashing. Harry ignored it far better than he had ever ignored Draco, but news of his relationship with the blond Slytherin had finally circulated the school. Templeton had starting running his mouth in the hall. Pansy, who they had been walking with, retorted. Templeton fired a shot. Ron fired a shot back. (He had a thing about targeting girls.) And it had just escalated from there. 

 

Ron had a small hole blasted out of his ankle that Hermione was trying to mend, though he was making a right fuss about it. Harry had a bruise across his back where he had been thrown into a wall. Draco had pulled his shirt up and was applying a salve. The four were resting in Severus’ study, pleased that they had gotten away with only a few detentions while Templeton and Goodchild had been sent to the Headmistress. 

 

Severus was scowling darkly at his desk, irked that his private chambers had starting breeding Gryffindors. 

 

“You think they’ll be expelled?” Ron asked eagerly, his hand on Hermione’s shoulder as she patted the blood from his foot. 

 

“I’ve been trying to get her to expel them for half the year,” Harry said, irritated.

 

“Goodchild’s father is pushing for closing Slytherin,” Draco said. “If his son is expelled, it’s likely that the governors will vote to close the house.”

 

“They’re still arguing over that!” Harry exclaimed.

 

“I told you that yesterday!” Hermione said, exasperated.

 

“Easy!” Ron protested when she stabbed a little too viciously in the wound. 

 

“You were going on about house elf rights.”

 

She sighed. “That was only at the beginning, Harry. Do you just shut out everything after the first three minutes?”

 

He gave a sheepish look but was smart enough not to answer. She glared at him. “It’s really happening, Harry, and frankly the only reason it hasn’t happened yet is you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes,” Severus said suddenly, not looking up from his grading. “The fact that you are publicly opposed to the dissimilation of Slytherin keeps the governors from acting. They will wait until after you graduate to begin casting votes about whether to reject children chosen to Slytherin out of hand or move them to different houses.”

 

“The bloody hell,” Harry cursed.

 

“Stop moving,” Draco ordered, slapping his shoulder and pulling him back into place. 

 

“You two can’t be indifferent to this.”

 

“Of course not,” Severus sneered. “But neither of us have the political power to oppose the movement.”

 

“But I do right?”

 

Severus glared at him. “I was not aware that you planned to enter politics, Harry.”

 

Harry made a face. 

 

“Well, I am,” Hermione said abruptly. “And I fully intend to use you as a bargaining chip.”

 

“Hermione, please try to use some restraint,” Harry begged, just imagining a horde of elves running after him because Hermione had given them mittens in his name. 

 

She waved him off. “Of course. Of course. It would just be a few speeches. A few appearances here and there. It’s no big deal.”

 

“Hermione,” he whined unabashedly. 

 

“What? Think of all the good we could do. I mean it’s ridiculous, but we should get something out of it.”

 

“Hermione, you are utterly Slytherin,” Draco said smugly.

 

“Hey!” Ron shouted, insulted. 

 

“Your best mate’s dating two of us and you still get offended over that?”

 

In a truly Ron-like move, he clammed his hands over his ears. “I’m not listening to you. I am blissfully ignorant. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Ron, stop acting like you’re four!” Hermione reproached, slapping him again.

 

Harry really loved his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS!!!!! They were an absolute pleasure to read and really gave me a lot of energy to keep going :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Villain takes center stage. My god, there's only like three chapters left. 
> 
> Yeah, this chapter is kind of noncon (not sexually though), warning if that's not your poison. 
> 
> Anyway... Onward, ho!

Stalkers never just up and disappear. The month it took for the next letter to arrive didn’t make them complacent but mostly because there was nothing to be complacent about. Harry had used himself as bait and had been ignored, which was weird. Harry wasn’t even ignored when he did something as trivial as blow his nose. But really, what could they do but wait?

 

Hermione was rattling about the upcoming exams and the apprenticeship she wanted to take at the Ministry. She was nagging Ron and Harry about considering their futures, neither of whom were quite sure what was going to happen after school. 

 

“Well, Harry’s blooming rich,” Dean said. “Don’t need to work, do he?”

 

Harry scowled. “Yeah, because me being idle is a really good idea.”

 

Ron gave a nod, swiping his biscuit through a vat of gravy. “You could always do quidditch,” he suggested.

 

He leaned away from the table with a disgruntled expression. “I don’t want to play quidditch for the rest of my life. What would that accomplish?”

 

Ron gaped at him, the sloppy biscuit dangling in his mouth, which made over half the table grimace disgustedly.

 

“Are you made!?” he shouted. 

 

“No need to shout, Ronald,” Hermione scolded, a frown between her brows. “I for one applaud him.”

 

His face made an expression that said he hadn’t thought she would understand. “But Harry,” he sputtered. “It’s _quidditch_.”

 

“I’ll still play. I just don’t think I’d want to make a living of it.”

 

That seemed to settle him somewhat, and he retook his seat. Harry had to admit that Severus and Draco made up a lot of his decision about forsaking a quidditch career. Although he really didn’t want or need any more fame, he loved flying and playing. But with the two of them so proficient at potions, he wanted to really make something of himself. Severus Snape was already a name in the potion world, and he had full faith that Draco Malfoy would soon be as well. 

 

He wasn’t stupid, and he wanted some way to prove it. 

 

“I thought you wanted to be an auror, Harry?” Pavarti said from further down the table, looking at him curiously. 

 

That was the reason he felt it so important last year to get into Potions, but he had no desire to be wrapped up in Ministry red tape all the time or be subservient to a corrupt system that was pushing for the sterilization of Dark creatures. Unlike Hermione, he had neither the patience nor the resolve to change the world from the inside out. 

 

“I’ve had enough fighting berserk wizards,” he said instead. 

 

He noticed several disappointed expressions and had to force himself not to scoff. He was no hero, and he had no desire to pretend to be one. 

 

“I think I’ll start a private business,” he said introspectively.

 

“On what?” Mauchery said up the table.

 

Harry frowned. Was everyone listening in?

 

“I don’t know,” he said sharply. “I’ll be sure to make a press statement.”

 

Mauchery turned away, as did several others, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from either side. 

 

“Really, Harry,” Hermione said quietly once he seemed to settle down. “Do you know what you want to do?”

 

“No,” he said honestly. “I guess I don’t have any special talents except being ridiculously annoying.”

 

“Nonsense,” Ron said, clapping his back. “You’re an amazing seeker too.”

 

Harry glared at his friend, fairly sure he wasn’t trying to be difficult. He sighed and told them he was going to Herbology early. Professor Sprout probably needed help taking in the Tarantacula vines. Since Neville had died, he’d made it a point of lending her a hand when needed. 

 

It was only in the mornings when he tended to worry about the stalker and only until the post arrived. The instant “will this be it” moment faded into tomorrow. So after the initial search through owls that morning, Harry had considered the deed done, the pent-up emotions barred until the next day. 

 

He was almost to the greenhouse, standing on the grass outside the back entrance, when he felt the weight shift in his pocket. He blinked, stopping on the steps. He pulled out a thick piece of parchment.

 

It had none of the magazine cut-outs that identified the stalker. The penmanship was tiny, neat, and androgynous, but he could see the indent of the quill and the splatters of ink where the quill had dribbled between the lines. He read.

 

_I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. That wasn’t my intention at all. I am so so sorry. That I have made you think you can only be safe among their lot, I know what I did was unforgivable. But I know what I need to do now. I’m sorry it took so long._

 

Harry almost stopped reading, yearning to sprint down the hall to Severus’ classroom and tell him that they had him now. Only a small measure of caution had him dropping his bag against the corner of the arches and moving from the corridor to finish.

 

_I’m sorry to do this, Harry. You don’t know how sorry, but I have no choice. Don’t tell anyone if you want them to stay alive._

 

What? His eyes sped over the remaining lines too fast to catch anything. He had to calm himself and continue again, straining not to skip ahead.

 

_We don’t have much time. I don’t want to hurt them, but I will, Harry. I know you are smart, so I will explain why you need to do exactly as I say. I didn’t want to mix other people in this, but I’m worried that if I take any more time, you will be lost to us. I can’t allow that to happen, Harry. So I’m afraid there will be casualties. I just want you to know that it’s all for the best._

 

“Fuck.”

 

_If you don’t leave after reading this, a spell will release a noxious gas in Severus’ class during his first period. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment._

 

_The spell on Malfoy is different. He is a horrible person, Harry. They both are. I don’t understand how you could let this happen, but I know you are far kinder than any other person in the world. They are abusing your kindness, but I will stop them. I will fix everything. So you shouldn’t be scared._

 

_The spell on Malfoy is ff he says your name three times after you have read this, he’ll stop breathing._

 

_Your name should never be on his lips, Harry. He does not deserve it. I will take the spell off when we meet. I am not a murderer, Harry. Please, believe that. It’s your decision. Do not think unkindly of me. This is all for your own good._

 

_I will be waiting in the Shrieking Shack. You should probably run._

 

Harry took off. How often did Draco speak of him? He knew Severus was in the classroom. First period was the first year potions and he always made sure that there was no sediment in the cauldrons and no residual magic to foul the concoctions, which could prove fatal. 

 

He could see Draco at the table, still talking to Pansy, opening his mouth to say something else about Harry bloody Potter. _Please_ , he begged, tears burning the corner of his eyes _, please let him not think of me today_.

 

His legs stretched. His arms billowed. 

 

Would Ron and Hermione go immediately to Severus when they noticed him missing? But it had been a month. Would they wait until class ended and then go? Would they search the school first? Hagrid’s Hut? The pitch? The Room of Requirement before deciding that he was in danger?

 

He threw open the gate, ignoring the stitch in his side. The hinges shattered and it fell lopsided. Harry didn’t mind it, belting to the door. He wrenched it open, not bothering to close it.

 

“I’m here!” he bellowed, the air coming out raspy. “I’m here! What do you want?!”

 

But it was silent. His heart thundered in his ears. Had he made it in time? He had no idea. He bent over his knees, pressing his hand to his side and panting heavily. The run seemed long, fraught with his panic. He had no idea how long it had taken him. He hadn’t even thought to try to find Severus and Draco first. Stupid. So stupid.

 

“What do you want?” he shouted again at the rotting ceiling.

 

He searched the room, the fallen-in walls, the sick musk of mildew, the creaks and groans of decayed wood. The gleam of silver was vibrant in the shoddy setting, sitting on a table positioned to capture attention.

 

Still catching his breath, he wetted his mouth, the ache in his throat like thistle. Two metal rings rested over each other, broken around an invisible clasp. He swallowed. He knew what those were.

 

Magical suppressants. They had used them on Draco and Severus when they were awaiting trial. They had used them on all the Death Eaters. Horrendous, abhorrent things that blocked channels to the core. It was worse over time, like a dam building. For all his aunt and uncle’s hype about beating the magic from him, these things could actually do it.

 

It was clear what the stalker wanted. And even with the threat of Draco and Severus over his head, he still hesitated. Was what they feared happening? Severus was right. This person couldn’t be controlled. Harry was a decent hand-to-hand fighter, but if the stalker had thought out even this (and how the hell had he gotten them?) then Harry half-suspected even a muggle gun. 

 

His skin was clammy, and he felt ill. His hands trembled when he picked up a ring and snapped it around his wrist, performing the same to the other, his insides all shivery with fear. His wand was useless now, and though he couldn’t feel the difference immediately, the weight of the cuffs was heavy. 

 

“What do you want?”

 

He heard the footfalls behind him, approaching the front door.

 

He stepped back, floundering. “You... You’re the stalker?”

 

“You’re sick, Harry, and you don’t even realize it. But I’m going to make you better.”

 

“You threatened them. You set the school on me. You’ve been... All this time! It was you?”

 

“That was an accident. I didn’t think it would turn out like that. This is all to make you better. To make you the Harry we all love.”

 

“You don’t love me!” he shouted, backing himself against the stairwell. “It’s torture!”

 

“You’ll understand.”

 

“You’re deluded.” 

 

The stalker made an ugly sneer, the features contorting into foreignness, and Harry was startled by the hate on that face. “They deserve to be hunted. They’re Death Eaters. They killed Dumbledore. They tormented us for years. They both deserve to be in Azkaban.”

 

“You don’t get to decide that.”

 

The wand came out slow and easy. “I can activate the spell from here. Don’t make me do it, Harry.”

 

Harry swallowed. “Ok. Ok. You released Draco from the spell, right?”

 

“Don’t say that name!” 

 

Harry was startled by the scream, primal and angry.

 

“Ok. Ok. Just calm down. Just… did you take off the spell?”

 

There was no answer.

 

“Please,” he begged. “Please, take it off.”

 

“I don’t want you to beg. You shouldn’t have to beg. Especially for _him_.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to do, his face breaking as he tried to think.

 

“I really do just want what’s best for you.”

 

That voice was so kind. Harry didn’t understand. How had this happened? How had no one noticed? 

 

“You’re the one who stole my hair,” he realized. “What was that for? Money? How was that supposed to help me?”

 

The figure pulled a large crystal ball from the robe’s fathomless pocket. A shimmering mist swirled lazily in the center. It didn’t feel right. It reminded him of the Veil, of whispers just beyond hearing.

 

“This is a mind orb,” the figure said, almost lovingly. “I made it perfect. You’ll be you again.”

 

“You don’t know me,” Harry said, quiet. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

 

“You’ll be back to normal, to how everything was meant, and everything will be alright.”

 

He looked at the crystal. He had only a vague idea of what it could do with a name like fucking mind orb. As he watched, a picture floated to the surface, made from the glittery strands that might have been memories. Another Harry stared back at him, his hair parted to display the scar on his forehead. It gave him a cocky grin, and Harry felt his stomach drop.

 

“Don’t do this,” he said. “That’s not me. It was never me. That was never ever _me_.”

 

“Harry. Don’t you see?” A hand cradled the orb and the image beneath it. “This will save you.”

 

Harry glared. “I can throw off the Imperius. I break it.”

 

Harry charged. He was flung back with a hex, as if even his sudden attack had been expected. He fell back into the house, landing harshly on his shoulder. The figure stood, wand extended and face a picture of guilt and sorrow. 

 

“It’s alright. Everything will be alright.”

 

Harry snarled, lifting himself up on his knees. “I will break through! You can’t keep me trapped forever! And when I do get out, I’ll kill you!”

 

That anguished expression returned. 

 

The wand flicked and Harry was spread-eagle on the dirty floor. He gritted his teeth in the shuffle and a feeling like staples were holding down his wrists and ankles, even pinching down on either side of his hips. He could almost hear Severus jeering at the unpracticed spell. 

 

It hurt. 

 

Breathing tightly, all the words Harry wanted to say clamped down. He was scared. 

 

The person knelt beside him, holding the orb over his sternum where it had started to melt.

 

“That’s exactly it, Harry. You don’t kill people. You’re a hero.”

 

The orb descended and Harry was erased. 

 

\- - -

 

“Does it matter that I love them?” he asked, small against the dark. “Does it matter that they love me back?”

 

The whispers answered with fingers inside his head. 

 

_Those things are not capable of love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hideously long wait! 
> 
> As always, THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR THE KUDOS AND THE COMMENTS! They warm the cockles of my soul. 
> 
> Two more chapters to go I think, unless I massively edit the last chapter. It's been a ride! Thank you for sticking with me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you finally know (kinda) what happened, and now, people to the rescue! (sorta)

Harry made it back in time for Herbology, less than fifteen minutes. Ron and Hermione were just about to tell Severus that he was missing. Hermione hissed at him and he told her that he ran into Hagrid. She gave him an irritated look and said that he had to be more careful. Harry nodded and no one knew. 

 

The changes were not immediate. He still went to sit in Severus’ study and suffered Draco at his side, but within a day, he had started to move away from them. His face flicked with irritation when they spoke or tried to touch him. He and Severus fought. Accusations went back and forth, and when Harry usually took a step back, took Severus’ blows, and tried to discover the root of them, he was obstinate this time. He fired back with vehemence, and Severus responded as he always did when uncertainty clouded him.

 

Harry walked out and he did not return. 

 

Draco tried to talk to him but he brushed him off. Ron and Hermione did not know what was wrong with him. He had told them nothing, and when asked, he stalked off in an unapproachable glower. 

 

It was a week before Harry started tormenting the Slytherins. Hermione and Ron cornered him, but with an easy smile, he brushed them off again. Hermione tested him for spells and potions and found nothing.

 

Events escalated. When asked about the violent turn, he said that Slytherins couldn’t be trusted. They could only assume that Draco and Severus had betrayed him in some profound way, but now when they spoke of it, his gaze wandered off as if he couldn’t hear them. When alone, he would sit as if lost, staring down at the floor until someone approached, when he would slap on a rogue grin and slip into the conversation with a strange braying laugh. 

 

Unlike Ron, Hermione kept in contact with Severus and Draco, and she knew they were no more the wiser to this change than she. Betrayed and stung, they were even more confused. Because this wasn’t like him. All those promises, all those vulnerable moments, had he just forgotten them?

 

None of this made any sense. It scared them.

 

What was _wrong_ with Harry Potter? 

 

o.O.o

 

**Present**

 

Harry woke slowly and groggily in the familiar white room of the infirmary. He leaned up, rubbing his face and hearing voices.

 

“What happened this time?” he asked resignedly.

 

“You fainted,” Ron said cautiously. 

 

Harry frowned then laughed. “Yeah, good one. Really, quidditch accident? Did a Slytherin hex me?”

 

“Harry, don’t you remember what happened in the Great Hall?” Hermione asked. 

 

He blinked through bleariness, wondering where his glasses were. “Oh, that note thing,” he said dismissively. “It was just a prank.”

 

“Don’t you tell me that was a prank!” she yelled.

 

“Oi! Don’t yell at me! Why don’t you get the lousy Slytherin that charmed my book? You’d think they’d at least have better taste in jokes.”

  
“Harry, what is wrong with you?” she said in a stricken voice. “When did you become like this?”

 

“What are you talking about? I’ve always been like this. What time is it?” he asked. “Did I miss dinner?”

 

“This is serious!” Ron yelled, banging his hands on the bed. 

 

“What’s serious about it? You two are overreacting.” 

 

He moved to exit the bed, but Hermione stood in his way.

 

“I want to know why you hate the Slytherins all of a sudden.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve always hated them. They’re despicable murderers and liars.”

 

“What happened between you and Severus and Draco?” she asked resolutely, refusing to move.

 

He gaped at her with an ugly expression. “You call them by their _first names_?”

 

They stared at him.

 

“Harry,” she said gently, a measure of fear coloring her voice. “Do you remember being in a relationship with them?”

 

“What?” he croaked. He gave a demented chuckle. “You need to stop sleeping in the library, ‘Mione. You’re delusional. Ron, are you listening to this?”

 

“Yeah, mate.”

 

“When’s the next quidditch practice? I thought up a play yesterday that I wanted to tell you about. I think it would be great in the next game if we can get Ginny to memorize it by then.”

 

They were quiet.

 

“Hello?” he called. “Earth to Ron? Where are my glasses?”

 

“Harry, your memories have been tampered with,” Hermione said urgently. “We need to get Madam Pomfrey.” 

 

“Don’t be silly,” he said, shuffling atop the nightstand. “I’m perfectly fine.”

 

“You are not fine,” a dark voice said, slipping in from the shadows.

 

Harry started. “Snape? You let him in?” he said angrily to his friends. He crossed his arms sullenly. “What do you want?”

 

“You’ve been cursed, and we are going to discern how.”

 

He laughed. “Yeah right, you miserable git. I’ve had enough of this.”

 

He moved to leave, and a spell shot out, pinning him to the bed. 

 

“Let me go, you bastard!” he screamed. “Why are you just standing there?” he aimed at Ron and Hermione.

 

“Something is wrong with you,” Ron said. 

 

“Traitor!” he suddenly roared, thrashing against the bonds like a viper. “You were always jealous weren’t you? I was always better than you! I had all the fame, all the glory! I was better at quidditch! I’m rich and handsome and everyone loves me and you were always jealous! Even your own mother loves me more!”

 

Ron went pale. He backed away from the bed, unable to look away. Severus struggled to push him back onto the mattress.

 

“Don’t touch me! Did you think I would forgive you, Dumbledore’s murderer! Murderer! Murderer! Murderer! And you, Granger?” he said, snapping his eyes to hers. “Were you waiting for this moment? Did you know? You should never have left the library, you bitch!”

 

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

 

The curse shot from the corner and hit Harry on the side of his face. He fell limp. Draco lowered his wand, tears unspent. It was silent. Draco shakily put the wand back in his sleeve, wiping his face. The horror of Harry’s words did not leave the room, cementing them to the floor. The boy slept.

 

o.O.o

 

Severus dripped three drops into Harry’s open mouth, allowing the clear liquid to soak on his tongue before drawing away. 

 

Ron guarded the door to the infirmary. Poppy was stunned in her office so they had no one to worry about save students. Severus nodded and Draco lifted the curse. Harry blinked his eyes blearily, not rising. Severus leaned over the bed to stare into his eyes. 

 

“Do you know who I am?”

 

“Severus Snape.”

 

“Do you know who you are?”

 

It was silent a moment before he spoke. “Harry Potter.”

 

“Were you ever in a relationship with me and Draco Malfoy?”

 

“No.”

 

Severus’ hands tightened. Harry stared up at him blankly.

 

“Do you know who did this to you?” Severus asked.

 

There was another silence that meant he did not understand. 

 

“When did the memory lapses start?” Severus tried instead.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“God, what happened to you?” Hermione whispered.

 

It wasn’t addressed to Harry, but he answered.

 

“I was fixed.”

 

“What does that mean?” Severus said, bearing down over him. But he remained silent again. Severus grabbed his face. “Harry, what happened to you?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Harry,” Draco called. He neared Severus’ side, looking into his misty eyes. “Do you hate us? Do you really hate us?”

 

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. He frowned and tried to speak again. The motion caught in his chest, and he choked. Severus stilled him with his hand.

 

“Do you want to hate us?”

 

“No,” he said, relaxing.

 

“Why?” Severus said. 

 

“Because… because…” he muttered. His face struggled to evolve into some emotion. 

 

His head fell back on the pillows, and he stared up at Severus, eyes roaming his face through the fog of the truth serum. His hand rose and tapped Severus’ face. Then, he pulled back with a small cry, as if he had been burned. Draco released a choked sob.

 

Severus backed away, hiding his face in his hair. 

 

“Do you know how to fix your memory losses?” Hermione asked in a tight voice.

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?” Severus demanded. 

 

He looked up at him. “I don’t know.”

 

Severus grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re not making any sense!”

 

Harry looked down where his hand was touching him. He connected the arm back up to his face. Then, his eyes flickered to Draco. He turned and looked at Hermione. Tears welled, progressing in a motion that was much too slow. Silently, they watched him. His eyes cleared out but the liquid remained. He laid back on the sheets, staring blankly.

 

Severus touched his face. “We’re going to fix this.”

 

Draco grabbed a limp hand and squeezed. Eventually, the serum wore off, and Harry drifted into natural sleep. Severus rested their foreheads together as Hermione turned her back.

 

“We’re going to fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so ya'll gave absolutely the best reviews ever and it moved my poor demented heart into actually uploading this even though I'm fretting like the dickens over the last damn chapter. I hope you all like it.
> 
> Thank you so much! You have no idea what your notes meant to me. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so... this got a bit surreally (not a word)
> 
> Sev tries to find the root of the problem.

Harry was glaring furiously at him. They were ensconced in his chambers this time, having stolen the boy from the hospital wing. Spelled silent and threshed to a chair by his arms and ankles, he was none too happy and was able to make his vehemence known only in scowling. It was awkwardly silent save for Weasley’s squirming. Without a word, Severus leveled his wand at the boy and spoke the spell.

 

“ _Legimens!_ ”

 

o.O.o

 

Severus struggled to right himself through the chaotic force of Harry’s mind. He had been trying to find the memories he had lost, refusing to believe they had been erased. However, the barricade he was expecting to find was not there, and his second purpose, to find the source of whatever curse had instigated this horror, was being waylaid by the massive pull of Harry’s subconscious, which was strangely and irrevocably sucking him further and further away from his own body.

 

Severus quickly realized he had two options. Either pull out and try something else or allow himself to be dragged completely into Harry’s mind. In these circumstances, he knew what the intelligent decision would be, but atypically, he didn’t fucking care. In a split second, Severus left his body, trusting that the Gryffindors and Draco would watch over it, and surrendered himself to whatever hell would come. 

 

o.O.o

 

White. Severus really bloody hated white, especially since he felt like he had been walking in it for hours. Only vaguely could he recognize that he was leading himself downwards. There was no slope, not even an imaginary one, but the further he walked, the deeper and therefore more down he went.

 

He should be terrified. He knew no way of leaving this plane. The ability to return to his body had long passed. He could be stuck in here forever. No walls. No ceiling. Not even a bloody floor for his footsteps to fall against. Just this endless, useless white. So he knew he should be worried, but instead he was just fucking pissed. Trust Harry bloody Potter to have a fucking empty head. 

 

“Potter, where the bloody hell are you?” he shouted. 

 

The sound was swallowed immediately, almost right against his lips. He growled and stomped further along, not daring to consider the paradox of stomping on a nonexistent floor.

 

“I swear on Merlin’s grave, boy, if this is some ridiculous Gryffindor endurance test, I’m going to bloody slaughter you.”

 

Severus turned his head and stumbled. He knew there hadn’t been a house right there a second ago. Nothing had existed in this infinitum but the stubborn white. Yet there is was, sitting amongst all the nothing with a manicured lawn and a stlye that could have been any cookie-cutter house in all of English suburbia. 

 

Severus stared at it. He was tempted to look away, but it would be just like Potter to make it disappear. He came closer, inspecting the shuttered windows, the spotless exterior, and the trimmed grass. There was even a little mailbox beside the sidewalk that led to the carport, a neat black number 4 on the side.

 

Severus was well acquainted with fear. He was not quite scared, but there was no reason for the shiver that ran up his spine, trailing gooseflesh on his arms and the back of his neck. There was a clear line where the white ended and the driveway began. Severus stood at it for a long minute before stepping over, half expecting the world to shift like the fragments of a dream and surge on him. 

 

Nothing happened, and he walked to the front door unmolested but with the distinct feeling that something was stalking him. The brass knob gleamed in a nonexistent sun, and Severus almost didn’t want to touch it. Slowly, his stained fingers gripped it, and it felt so real that he had to hold in his breath. It was unlocked. There was no sound as the door opened, not the click of the jam or even the protest of hinges. It opened flawlessly to the touch, hampered just slightly on the soft carpet beneath the frame.

 

He felt queasy for the greasy stain his palm must have left on the knob before he reprimanded himself.

 

As he searched the house, he knew that he should probably be calling Harry’s name, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew the boy was in the house, but as he went through the rooms - beds made, clothes laundered and stacked in closets and dressers, carpets vacuumed - he could find no hint of his existence. It was, for all intents and purposes, an empty house without a speck of dust or cobweb.

 

After he checked the kitchen - the food organized by group and all completely plasticky whole - he had almost given up. He slammed the cabinet, and the sound, loud and full and real, made him jump. He collapsed at the kitchen counter, his head hanging in his hands. Short of looking between the cushions on the couch, he didn’t know what else to do.

 

“Where are you?”

 

Half expecting something else to miraculously appear, he looked up, but nothing had changed. Everything was still mercilessly clean and unreal. 

 

“Harry?” he whispered. “Harry,” he called a little louder, but there was still no response. 

 

He thought about what Draco would do. The blond was not the cleverest of his Slytherins, but he had always been able to understand Harry far better than Severus ever could. He measured it up to their ages, but he knew it was deeper than that, an intrinsic knowledge that Severus simply could not fathom. Thinking of it now, in this foreign world with no one the wiser, made him smile.

 

“Marco?” he called faintly.

 

He heard nothing but something made his attention sharper. He stood.

 

“Marco?” he said louder, pacing outside the kitchen.

 

There. Was he just imagining mice in a place like this? The wind? He inched along the wall, keeping his steps silent, disregarding the faint self-imposed rule to touch the walls as little as possible.

 

“Marco?”

 

“Polo.”

 

He almost shouted in triumph. Using all the concentration he could muster, he called again, even going so far as to shut his eyes.

 

“Polo,” it came louder. 

 

It was in the hall. Nearby in fact. He searched the guest bathroom again, checking beneath the sink and damn even that was spotless.

 

“Marco.”

 

“Polo.”

 

He went back in the hall, and his eyes were suddenly drawn to a door he had skipped over without thinking. The cupboard beneath the stairs. He pressed his hand against the triangular door, big enough only to toss in a mop. 

 

“Marco.”

 

“Polo.”

 

His stomach in his throat, he flicked back the deadbolt. The little knob, oval and whitewashed, might only have fit the hands of a child. He turned it and opened the door. Harry Potter sat on a sagging cot in the half-light of a dying bulb. The coats were shoved to the side, a broom leaning up against the studs and insulation. He had his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. A face no older than six stared up at him, muddy with dry tear tracks.

 

Severus stared at him. Harry back stared up with round eyes, his emotions indecipherable.

 

“You’re late.”

 

o.O.o

 

Severus almost couldn’t handle the surrealism of the situation. He was sitting at the kitchen table in Harry Potter’s spotless house while the six-year-old boy served him tea. All of this inside the boy’s head. Knowing nothing else to do, he stared at the boy’s back as he worked. His clothes were overlarge. The emancipated form of his shoulders, which was similar perhaps to the skeleton of a small bird, was visible above the collar of a filthy shirt. The trousers sagged underfoot, bunched by a belt lost in the folds of the t-shirt. His skinny neck looked breakable, making his head far too big. Only the mangy mess of his hair was the same and the horrible glasses that tipped precariously off a childish nose. 

 

Harry turned around, a cup of fine china in his hands. He walked carefully over the dilapidated legs of his breeches before setting the cup in front of Severus, turning the handle so that it faced him. Severus didn’t look at it.

 

“You know who I am?”

 

The little boy looked up from his lashes. The expression was too solemn even to be considered cute. 

 

“You’re the man from the pictures,” he said. He fumbled with the hem of his shirt and looked away out the window, which revealed only the whiteness of rest of the world. 

 

Severus wasn’t sure what to say or what to ask. Everything here was so oppressive, so simple as to be cruel. 

 

He looked down at the tea. It was amber, steam floating loftily from the surface. It was the only thing warm he had seen in this world. He picked it up and inhaled it. The scent of herbs was simultaneously hot and bitter, serving immediately to calm him. It was so damn real. He took a cautious sip and was startled to feel the burn on his tongue, mixing with the delightful tang of citrus. He took it away from his lips and let the steam roll over his upper lip.

 

“You like it?” came Harry’s anxious voice.

 

He looked over, startled to see the boy watching him intently. Suddenly, everything clicked into place - the cleanliness, the emptiness, his ragged appearance. This was Harry’s childhood home. This _was_ the barrier he was trying to find. The secrets about the Boy-Who-Lived that no obsessed fan would want to exist. He lowered the cup. 

 

“Yes, I like it very much.”

 

Harry gave him a long, disbelieving stare. Severus forced himself to return it. Eventually, Harry ducked his head.

 

“What did you mean by the pictures, Harry?” Severus asked, making sure to keep his voice soft and his fingers entwined around the stem of his teacup. 

 

Harry looked across the floor, possibly looking for fragments of dust he had missed. 

 

“The pictures on the wall.”

 

“Will you show me?”

 

Harry gave him a quick glance before nodding. Severus stood and extended his hand, intent on touching him. Harry stared at it for a long moment before taking a step back, every muscle in him tense. Severus withdrew the hand.

 

Harry led him into the hallway. He took a few steps up the stairs, turning to make sure Severus was following and stopped before a row of pictures that Severus had glazed over in his attempt to find him. They were wizarding pictures. 

 

At the top few rows were a couple frames featuring the obese man that Severus knew to be his uncle, an equally obese child, and a stern faced woman that he recognized as an older Petunia Evans. They were doing normal things - eating, watching the telly, and occasionally yelling at whoever had taken the picture. 

 

Below them was a single frame featuring Sirius Black. The selection of pictures ranged from him hiding in a cave among a litter of rat skulls to his smiling face in Grimmald Place to him falling past the veil. Severus was never a fan of the man, but the realization that Harry did not remember him made his chest tighten. 

 

Other frames featured mementos of his first year of Hogwarts. Severus recognized the faces of a young Hermione and Ron caught in the simple acts of studying, playing Exploding Snap, and dozing. None of the adventures that had made up so much of Harry’s first year.

 

On the bottom row, the row most level with the boy’s sight, were two frames, each with Severus and Draco. As Severus watched, he was slightly disturbed to see himself and Draco in various intimate poses, littered among the casual frames that made up most the wall. However, the message was clear. Anything that Harry had held dear about the two of them had been stripped from him and added to the wall behind untouchable glass.

 

Harry was staring at them, calming watching Draco flinging his head back in ecstasy. Severus looked back at the picture before asking, “What do you see?”

 

“A boy.”

 

“Do you know what he’s doing?”

 

“He’s making love.”

 

Severus shuddered. Harry looked up at him. “Is he you?”

 

Severus stared at him bewildered before looking back at the blond. “You can’t tell,” he acknowledged quietly.

 

Harry looked away. 

 

Severus shook his head. “No, this is me.” 

 

He pointed to the picture beside it. Classically, he was brewing. Severus watched himself being caught in the act of adding leaves to the mixture, wondering at the strange glow that emanated from what should be a sallow face. Was his nose smaller? Was this how Harry saw him? Or was his own perception of himself interfering with what he saw? As he watched, the image changed. It was only the side of his cheek, his eyes closed in what he shortly realized was a kiss.

 

“I knew one of you would come,” Harry said quietly. “I’m sorry that I don’t know who you are.”

 

“It’s alright,” Severus said, surprised with he realized that he meant it. He touched the frame. “This is enough.”

 

Harry was watching him again. Slowly, he turned his gaze and allowed their eyes to meet. There was a hint of the Harry he had fallen in love with there, but there were none of the memories. The emotional responses were there without any of the evidence, and Severus marveled at how beautiful and intense the boy before him was and how his convictions could strike him so deeply. 

 

“I’m going to take you away from here,” he said. 

 

Harry’s eyes widened, and his expression changed to one of regret. “You can’t. I can’t leave.”

 

Severus bent, having to go only half the distance since Harry was two steps above him on the stairs. “Yes, you can.”

 

Harry shook his head. 

 

“This is your world,” Severus said.

 

Harry bit his lip and looked out of the corner of his eyes. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. “You’ll have to leave.”

 

Severus forsook his inhibitions and grabbed his shoulders. “I won’t leave you alone. I’ll never leave you alone.”

 

Harry stared at him with wide eyes. The air around them shimmered. Harry broke the stare, glancing frantically around the rail. He grabbed Severus’ hand. Severus was unprepared for the force that erupted against him. He recognized the feel of the spell, an entity foreign to the magic that surrounded them. He was ripped from the stairway. Harry cried out, hands jerked apart by the shock. He ran after him.

 

A loud, dangerous bark broke Harry’s sprint. He winced, falling back as an angry bulldog jumped in front of him. The boy stumbled backwards, terrified of the loud barking, the snapping teeth. With a snarl, Severus moved to kick the blasted thing but was hauled backwards by the force of the spell. The front door banged open.

 

Harry looked up, his eyes scared. Severus fought through the expulsion, but he could already feel Harry’s body rejecting him, the call of his own growing. He managed to cling to the doorframe. Harry tried to take a step forward. The dog jumped, snapping at him, and he fell back with a scream. 

 

“It’s your world, Harry!” Severus shouted as the frame began to disappear beneath his hands. “You have to fight it! Don’t give up!”

 

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the dog barked, and he ended whatever he wanted to say in a whimper, turning his head to protect his face. Severus shouted something at him, though he could not for the life of him have known what it was. In a tumultuous rip, he was catapulted from his mind. 

 

He landed back in his body with a forceful impact. He was dimly aware of hands around him as he surged upward, still somewhat caught in the other world. 

 

“Harry!” he shouted, struggling with the hands on him. 

 

“Severus!” Draco cried out. 

 

He stilled, breathing heavily on the floor. Draco, Weasley, and Granger were crowded around him, watching him frightfully. He jumped to his feet. Harry had collapsed in the chair, his head lolling to the side. Severus grabbed his face.

 

“Harry! It’s not real! You have to realize it’s not real! Wake up!”

 

“Severus, what happened?” Draco asked behind him.

 

Severus shook Harry’s shoulders, rocking the chair. He raised his arm back and slapped him hard across the face. Weasley tackled him from the side, dragging him away. Harry remained limb, a brilliant, red print across his cheek. Severus shrugged the boy off and slammed his fist in the wall. His knuckles came away bloody.

 

“Damn it!”

 

He remained still for a long minute, reveling in his anger and helplessness. Gingerly, Draco touched his shoulder. He shrugged him away roughly, growling. Draco grabbed his arm and spun him around. The blond flung himself against his chest, holding on as if for dear life. Severus embraced him back with harsh resilience. 

 

“I can’t save him,” he whispered against his ear.

 

Draco’s hold tightened. “He promised he’d come back.”

 

Severus eased his grip, moving his hand into his soft hair. “I… I don’t know if he can.”

 

Draco’s shoulders shook with faint cries, his breath hitching against his robes. Severus looked to the figure still tied to the chair. The features were familiar. He was sure that none of the spots he had painstakingly sought out night after night had changed. He held Draco in his arms, wondering if he would see those eyes again, alight with the soft joy of being together.

 

_“You won’t lose me,” Harry said against his lips._

 

Severus closed his eyes. In the pain, he could almost feel his touch. The taste of a broken promise had never been so sour. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Fricking! Updating!

Harry scrubbed everything that the man had touched. He focused on the whiteness. His existence revolved around that whiteness, that whiteness that felt so unbelievable foreign to him. He washed the teacup, placing it among the others in the glass cabinet that he wasn’t supposed to touch with anything but a duster, and wiped his own fingerprints away. 

 

He took only a moment to remember the hunger. It was always there, like a bruise he could pick it. He stole a glance at the fridge, his fingers curling around the steel wool scrubber. But it wasn’t for him. Dirty freaks don’t eat from the fridge, and if he ever forgot that he was a dirty freak, then the dog would come, and the laughter, and the names, to remind him. 

 

While waiting for the bucket to fill, he stared out the window. The blankness went on forever. He wondered where the man had gone and knew instinctually, like the urge to clean, that he was never coming back. He reached out to touch the glass and held back, remembering again that he was dirty. 

 

The bucket filled, and he set to work stripping nonexistent grime off the tiles. He vacuumed the stairs and reached around the door to polish the doorknob. He set to work erasing the presence of the man, one inch by careful inch. Then, he went back to his cupboard. 

 

The door closed behind him, and he heard the lock click. He pulled his knees to his chest and waited, pretending that he didn’t exist. If he breathed really quietly, sometimes it didn’t even hurt to pretend.

 

The man was nice. He knew he was supposed to know him, just like he was supposed to know everyone nailed to the wall along the stairs. He wished he could see what they were. He remembered knowing them only in seconds, not actual recognition. Like the memory of an unknown dream. He knew it was there, that it was haunting him, but nothing more. 

 

The same way he knew his name was not really Boy.

 

He knew this world was not real. He knew something horrible had happened to him, was happening to him, and that he was trapped here. He had to wonder sometimes if the world outside this house wasn’t fake though. If the shadow that stalked him was not some hallucination. He was almost sure that the urge to escape this place was real.

 

It was easy to wait. It was easy to believe that he was meant to be here even. Even if he had no purpose, no real reason for existing, he knew he was meant to be here. Whether or not it was real, he knew that. The world of white offered no such assurances.

 

The man said he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t sure what that meant though. Being with someone, someone real, was a concept too outlandish to contemplate. But he liked the feel of the man’s gaze, the strength in his hands, which was as comforting as it was threatening. 

 

He looked at his hands, blistered from scrubbing with hot water and stained with polish, and thought, I don’t want to be here.

 

“It’s safe here.”

 

He looked beside him. The child he could only refer to as Boy, though that was not his name either, stared back at him solemnly. His glasses drooped off his face as he rested his cheek on his knee.

 

“You have no idea what they will want from you out there.”

 

“You think they’ll hurt me?” he asked. Boy shrugged, revealing another patch of bone pressing against skin. “They hurt me here too,” he reminded him.

 

“Yeah, but it’s not intolerable. I mean, it’s not like you’d die.”

 

He had to admit that that was true. He had no threat of dying here. He sighed. “I don’t think I want this.”

 

Boy looked at him. “Do you? What is they’re just the same? What if it’s even worse out there?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Why risk it? It’s not so bad here.”

 

“It’s not real.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Boy reminded him.

 

He looked down at his fingers, touching the coarseness. He was rather proud that the house was clean again, even if it hurt thinking that it was as if the man had never come. But, really, what was it for? He had never seen the people he was cleaning for, though he somehow knew they would not thank him. The food in the fridge remained fresh and untouched. There was no one to eat it. What was the use of a peach if it was never tasted, if it never did anything but sit in its bowl?

 

“Yes, it does.”

 

Boy’s eyes went wide. “What are you going to do?” he whispered. 

 

He shook his head. 

 

“Ripper will get you,” Boy said.

 

_This is your world._

 

“I want to go some place else.”

 

“What if they don’t accept you? What if everything has changed? What if you’re all alone again?”

 

“I guess I’ll go some place else,” he said, leaning forward to push open the door to the cupboard.

 

Of course, it was locked. Boy slid closer to him.

 

“What if you never find what you’re looking for?”

 

In the measly light, he inspected the exposed boards next to the insulation. With a great breath, he steadied himself and kicked. It didn’t do much damage but the house groaned.

 

“The world will go on, I suppose.”

 

“That’s very sad,” Boy said as he kicked again.

 

The wall broke, yielding way to darkness. He heard Ripper scratching and howling outside the cupboard. But it was oaky. His cupboard was safe. 

 

A wind blew passed him. He breathed it in, tasting nothing but a cold caress. He turned to Boy.

 

“Do you want to come with me?” he said.

 

Boy looked into the pitch, his eyes scared. The other boy extended his hand.

 

“Come with me.”

 

“Why? Why would you want me to?”

 

“Because you’re real too. You’re me.”

 

Boy stared at him, alike and unalike. Gingerly, Boy took his hand. Together, they stepped into darkness.

 

o.O.o

 

Harry Potter woke in a quick submersion, though his only motion was to open his eyes. For a moment, he could only lie there, wondering if he had fallen into a nightmare. He heard Hermione and Ron talking quietly over him, but it was dull, like he couldn’t focus on one thing.

 

He rose. 

 

“Harry!” Hermione cried, moving to touch him.

 

Ron grabbed her, watching him. His jaw was set, his eyes suspicious. He fingered his wand. Hermione did not try to break away but her gaze was wide with hope and yearning. 

 

His rage was swift. It swallowed him. He raised his hand and released a controlled burst of raw power. The magic fanned out in a barely visible sparkle. It settled like a sinker over the castle. Harry jerked, eyes flaring. His gaze locked on a corner of the room.

 

“ _Accio_ cloak!” he shouted without a wand.

 

There was a shimmer, and Harry’s invisibility cloak slid off the figure hunched in the corner of the infirmary. Harry let the heirloom sink to the floor before it could reach him. Thunder rolled over his features, striking every portion of him. He flicked out his hand, and Colin Cleevey flew forward, his arms pinned to his sides.

 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” 

 

“H-Harry,” Colin sputtered, terrified.

 

“I trusted you.”

 

Tears marked the corners of Colin’s eyes. “You weren’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to fix you.”

 

Harry released the power boiling around. It shed a skin, falling to the floor with enough concentration to become a corporal shell of his body. Colin’s eyes flicked to it with terror, and Harry imagined that he must have appeared like a snake. 

 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I’ve _tortured..._ _children_.” He had to stop talking, his chest heaving.

 

“They… they were just Slytherins,” the boy whispered.

 

Harry’s hand twitched. 

 

“I told you I would kill you, Colin.”

 

The boy started crying, kicking out in a pathetic struggle against the magic holding him up. Harry was silent a long moment, staring at him. Ron and Hermione dared not speak. The air was thick. Harry stood on the precipice, breathing heavily. Sore with hate.

 

Finally, he released him. He shook.

 

“I’m going to tell everyone what you did. I’m going to tell everyone that a _Gryffindor..._ did this. Some are going to agree with you.” He bent down to stare into Colin’s eyes. “Maybe you’ll be a hero to them. But you are going to Azkaban and you’re going to rot in your legacy there, stuck in that tiny cell, and no one hearing you scream is going to help you. So you can be their fucking martyr too.”

 

“They killed my brother,” Colin sobbed.

 

“I don’t care,” he said.

 

Colin stared at him. He bent his head and cried. 

 

Eventually, aurors came. Colin didn’t struggle, whimpering and mumbling. They guided Colin out, eying Harry like he was the monster. Harry didn’t move, couldn’t, terrified that he’d lose control if he did. 

 

The things he’d done while he was trapped in his own mind. Flashes from some impersonal nightmare. But it was his mouth saying those things. It was his body sliding into those girls.

 

There was nothing in his stomach to sick up, but the images didn’t stop. The heat of his own helpless thrusting, into women who didn’t know. It tore inside his head. The shame of what he’d done to those kids mixed with the humiliation.

 

His magic twined. He could feel it, a numb stitching. Doing something attached but beyond him. He didn’t care. 

 

Hermione tried to grab him. He shoved her off, curling into a ball on the floor. She let him for a few base moment then hauled him forward anyway. He spat and clawed like a cat, but she held on, crooning soft things into his dumb ears. Her smell came up around him, patient and familiar. His fingers scratched beneath her clothes, but never did her grip falter. She only flinched and held on. 

 

Severus and Draco. God, how could he face them? What he said, what he did. At last his screeching magic succumbed to shame, and he buried his face exhausted in Hermione’s shoulder. 

 

“Harry,” she said. “It’s ok. You’re safe.”

 

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t. He was poison. He would never be loved again. It was all ruined. 

 

Her neat, delicate hands were replaced by something stronger. He looked up. His eyes glossy and red met stark obsidian, a face he at first could hardly recognize as his lover. His merciless hands, his resilient fingers, folded around Harry’s wrists with the ominous, dark grace of spider legs wrapping around prey. 

 

In a daze, Severus pulled him unresisting up off the floor and towards one of the private rooms off the side of Pomfrey’s office. Harry didn’t even register this, caught in the sensation of those hands manacling his own. He felt it was the only thing keeping him _together_. 

 

A door shut. Harry didn’t notice this either. 

 

There was movement around him, like curtain around an open window, but the movement turned into a man, a blond man, with dove-grey eyes that whistled forlornly into his own, full of landscape and barren sea. 

 

“Harry,” it called.

 

The hands started to move and Harry cried out, terrified that they would leave. They clamped down again, and he subsisted, barely kept back the bleakness that wanted to swallow him. 

 

Someone pressed a cup to his lips, tilting water. Something touched his throat and he swallowed, understanding simple unspoken commands. He had been sat down, though he didn’t remember it. A blue potion followed, bringing numb relief, his body weightless. The panic eased back into the forest line. 

 

He breathed, deep and wet. Severus’ hands were on him. He couldn’t hate him surely if his hands were on him.

 

(Yes, he could.)

 

He looked up at him, his beautiful, pale yellow-stained fingers still wreathing his wrists. He couldn’t speak.

 

Severus lifted his arms, lying them upright at a less awkward angle. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

His eyes filled again. Despite the fact that he knew Severus couldn’t know that - he hadn’t told anyone what had happened yet - his faith made new wounds over the old, clean cuts over the jagged holes of the curse. 

 

He lowered his face, feeling battered. Though he was the only one who had been violent. 

 

Severus pulled him into his lap. Harry’s brow rested on his shoulder as warmth drew itself over his back, closing him in. Draco drew an arm across his abdomen.

 

They stayed like that for a long, long time. Harry would start to calm. Then, he’d imagine how worse this could be. He’d imagine that he was alone, that Draco and Severus had rejected him, and he would tense and hide his face and want to die. 

 

And they would pull in close and tell No, it wasn’t his fault; You’re ok; You’re safe; You’re here.

 

And it was all he could do to exist without shattering.

 

How long this went on he didn’t know. Long enough that he needed to pee. The urge overcoming enough melancholy for a bit.

 

He tottered to the loo and came back, sitting beside them on the bed. 

 

He felt withered. “He wanted to fix me,” he said, his voice oddly sore. Like he’d been screaming. He hadn’t. Severus and Draco simply listen. “He put away everything he didn’t like, everything that made me _me_.” He swallowed. “To make me _better_.”

 

He still feels the bitterness. He regrets not killing him. He wonders if he’ll always feel that way. 

 

There was not a part of himself that was not violated. His morals, his honor, his love, even his loyalty... deemed _unfit_. Disposable.

 

Draco cries and pretends he doesn’t, dashing the evidence quickly from his face. Looking forward. 

 

“You came back,” Severus says. 

 

Harry’s head hangs. “I should have come back sooner.”

 

“I should have found you sooner!” Severus snarls, the vehemence and disgust directed entirely unexpectedly at himself. 

 

He’s astonished to find Severus’ eyes gleaming as well, unspent tears lurking in the depths. 

 

It quiets and humbles him. 

 

Some of the pain eases. Just a little. 

 

They don’t speak again. Someone end up falling asleep against one another, curling in a triskelion on the made bed. 

 

It’s something like a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 300 kudos!!!!! Thank you so much everyone!
> 
> We are almost at the end. Drop me some love if you want. I have a hard time responding, but I read every note, and they fill my heart with glee!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. Lots of talking. They finally discuss some of the stuff that went on in the war. 
> 
> Warning for signs of depression and some self-harm.

It was a mess. Making statements, informing the school, the board of directors, the media. But there was no more talk of closing down Slytherin.

 

Harry wished he could be happy. 

 

The backlash wasn’t easy. He knew that some agreed with Creevey. He wasn’t the hero they wanted. But he handled that. It was harder telling two girls that he’d only had sex with them because he was cursed. How did anyone rationalize that type of thing? It was harder still regaining the trust he’d destroyed in Slytherin.

 

And he still felt like vomiting whenever he thought about it. 

 

They were graduating soon. Harry was somewhat aware of tests and classes, but he couldn’t focus on them. There were days he spent entirely in bed, with Draco pressed against his back, the silence more at ease accompanied by his breathing.

 

His dearest two had forgiven him carelessly, had accepted him back, but he was changed. He did not know how to revitalize the sense of playfulness he had before, and he was scared to have sex, to find these changes devolved into some degrading habit. Everything was so hard. To eat, to speak, sometimes even to remain awake and unchanged. At times, he wanted to push everyone away. He found their forbearance excruciating. Severus seemed able to read these moods best and knew when to leave him alone. Still, there were times when he lashed out, causing Draco to burst into tears and throw things. 

 

But the worst was knowing that he couldn’t be like this. He had to be stronger, for the people still suffering from the war, for the Slytherins and those people who still believed he should be punished for unfulfilled expectations. Now more than ever, he was a danger to society, and they would descend on him if they scented weakness. 

 

Harry was ashamed of the person he’d become. He did not laugh. He did not smile. And he was inherently distrustful. He was so cruelly tempted to unleash a fury of power on the rude and power hungry - the media, the ministry, the purebloods, who still believed he was nothing but a boy that could be manipulated. 

 

There was always a haze of anger about him, churning waves beneath a layer of glass. His magic was often a snapping wolf he barely tethered, and had to be handled delicately. 

 

He admitted he was still waiting for the moment when Draco and Severus would declare him too much trouble, their relationship too ruined, and leave. He realized they might be staying with him purely out of duty. It became glaringly obvious to him that he would not survive a break-up. They might be staying out of misguided worry. 

 

That wasn’t what he wanted. 

 

So he spent less time in bed. He spent less time staring at the wall, making Severus hold him at night, and it was mindlessly that he began clawing himself to compensate. He hardly noticed at first, as it was just a temporary relief in the bathroom. His fingernails would dig into his skin, perhaps he’d bite himself, and it was only when he saw clearly the scabs on his arms that he felt the pangs of addiction, feeling so hopelessly lost. 

 

He was resting in the armchair in Severus’ chamber, holding the careful finger of whiskey that Severus allowed him each night to his forehead, nearly four months after the incident, that Draco entered in his dressing gown.

 

They’d spoken less and less, he and his lovers. He wondered at times if his feelings for them had grown stale, but no, he ached with the kind of heat that could only be love. Both pleasure and pain. It was the only thing he felt most days. 

 

Draco sat across from him. He was still stunningly handsome, a jewel of a man that better belonged in a treasure chest or at the top of a tower. The maturity of the past year had only made him more lovely, a soft patience and acceptance about him. He missed touching Draco, but he no longer knew how to bridge the distance. 

 

“Hey,” Draco called.

 

Draco looked shy and uncomfortable in front of him, like he had all those years - No, it was only months, wasn’t it. 

 

God. 

 

“Hey.”

 

The simple reply lifted Draco’s mouth into a small but grateful smile. Harry had been such shit. That’d he’d be grateful for a scrap of words made Harry furious with himself. 

 

Then, Draco coughed, and he unearthed a board from one of those voluminous wizarding pockets. It was black with small divots in hexagonal patterns.

 

“Want to play?”

 

“What is it?”

 

Draco took out some glass pebbles.

 

“Checkers,” he said brightly. “Chinese to be specific.”

 

For the first time in a long while, Harry bottled the anger, trying to focus on the object in Draco’s hands. “I don’t know how to play.”

 

“I’ll teach you.”

 

There was something more there. Harry ignored it. He wanted to stop thinking.

 

“Ok,” he said and forced himself to let Draco draw him into something untouched by Colin Creevey’s madness. 

 

It was silent at first, testing, before Draco’s voice slowly emerged, a trickle turning into a babbling creek. There was always an affront, a social blunder, or remarkable event that would seem trite to people not Draco. He spoke without self-consciousness, without second-guessing or wondering if he was being mean or unfair or a berk. There was something pure-hearted in that honesty that Harry had almost forgotten he’d adored. 

 

For a minute, he remembered, feeling the way he did back then when Draco had confessed and threw Harry headlong into a dazzling sense of discovery. Had their situations been reversed, he doesn’t think he would have ever had the courage to do that. For all that people tell Harry he wears his heart on his sleeve, it’s really Draco who can’t wear a mask. Who suffers and tries and fails and triumphs with free-hearted abandon. 

 

Something within him cracks. Just then. Just a small burst of light in the gloom surrounding him. Listening to Draco whine about Pansy buying the last of some ridiculous novelty item he wanted at Honeydukes. 

 

Between one moment and the next, he felt Severus’ presence, hovering at the threshold of the two rooms. He’d likely been there for a while, nonintrusive, watching and analyzing. Harry caught his eye while Draco mercilessly and thoughtlessly trounced him from two sides across the board. 

 

Severus was not luminous like Draco. He didn’t put off light or make the dark things trivial, but God if Harry didn’t feel a kinship with him, even more now, wondering how he will ever deserve Draco’s unconditioned, artless love. For a moment, Severus’ eyes reflected pain, and Harry could not tell where his or Severus’ began or ended. 

 

They had never shared a moment like that before. He found it sad but... embracing. Somehow. He wasn’t alone. 

 

_He’s not alone._

 

His throat worked as he stilled the tears burning his eyes. 

 

In his pain, his guilt, he’s not alone. 

 

From angle he turns. 

 

It hit him hard. As he was thinking, the sleeve of his jacket rode high.

 

“What is that?” 

 

Draco’s voice was slightly shrill, stuttering out of the comfortable ebb. His eyes lay on the overlay of bruises and scabs crawling around the underside of his arm. 

 

Harry didn’t move. He didn’t know how to react.

 

He let Draco take his wrist, his touch light and careful like Harry may snap and bite. He turned his hand over, pushing back the sleeve, and exposed the damage. 

 

The silence rang until Draco spoke in a spooked voice. 

 

“Did you do this?”

 

Harry looked down at his own masticated flesh. He saw the rawness, the bumps and bleeding, but it didn’t really connect to _his_ arm. It felt like a photo.

 

“These are teethmarks!” Draco hissed, grip tightening, pulling him closer like he can’t see what’s clearly visible. 

 

Harry didn’t care about his arm. It was relative. But the press of Draco’s hand...

 

Vividly, out of nowhere, he remembered Draco’s hand pressing down into his wrist after the school attacked him. He remembered gasping and groaning as Draco moved between his legs, holding onto him. He remembered the sensation of love he’d felt as Severus curled his long fingers tenderly around his throat, playing the longer game with his own erection while Harry got blown in his lap. He remembered the ease they’d had, slipping in together, beneath sheets, atop chests, between legs and arms, the world forgotten. 

 

As if underneath a heavy dusty quilt, he realized he was still so desperately in love with them. 

 

He gripped Draco’s arm back, felt him shudder, fingers falling open in helpless reaction to Harry’s touch. 

 

The miserable air suddenly tightened, charged. It was the first time since the incident that Harry had touched either of them with anything over than grief. 

 

Harry tried to breathe. It wasn’t possible. He felt exposed. Worse than his wrist. It wasn’t fear but some nameless thing, almost like hope but craven, starving inside him. 

 

“Harry?” Draco asked.

 

Harry unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

 

“Will I ever be the same?”

 

He didn’t mean to ask. He meant to say something else, something reassuring surely. Not something like that.

 

“No,” Severus said, joining them at the table. His expression was hard and bracing. “You can never go back.”

 

Draco looked like he wanted to argue. He doesn’t. They all knew the truth. 

 

Harry took a wet, jittery breath. It didn’t seem to give any oxygen at all. 

 

“What... about us?”

 

Draco’s eyes were glassy, bright steel. “What about us?”

 

His hand had clamped like he expected to need to reel Harry in. It was reassuring.

 

“I’m not... Let’s face it, I’m not like I was.”

 

Draco’s nostrils flared, chin rising mutinous, but it was Severus who spoke. 

 

“Do you expect us to run away? Do you think so little of us?”

 

Trying not to think, Harry retaliated. “I never knew. Why... why it was me. You could have each other. I’m not trying. Trying to be modest. Or. I just. I’m not. I’m not good for this anymore,” he said, frustrated. 

 

Draco’s eyes widened, mouth agape. “Do you truly think that?”

 

Harry tried to yank away. Draco clung, maniacal about it. 

 

“We didn’t want you because you’re _good_ ,” Draco snarled. He threw the word like something filthy. 

 

“Then why?” Harry yelled.

 

Draco threw up his hands, catching Harry’s alongside him. 

 

“Fuck if I know! It’s just- You! It’s just...” He lowered his arm, calming. “You.”

 

Harry didn’t know how to respond. Some of the scabs were bleeding. They itched, but the feeling of Draco’s thumb, strolling back and forth against his skin, was more consuming. 

 

“Do you want us to leave?” Severus asked into the silence.

 

Both Draco and Harry stiffen. Severus’ tone was so carefully neutral, it seemed hurt. Harry couldn’t read his eyes.

 

“You are not trapped here,” Severus continued. “There’s the door. Go, if you need to. Breathe some air. Think. Do whatever it is you need to do. But come back. And we will be here. Ready to listen.”

 

Harry couldn’t not imagine how much those words hurt, how much effort they took to speak. He didn’t need to look at Severus’ careful body language, his emotionless face, to know that it cost him something awful to voice what he thought Harry needed to hear.

 

And he did need to hear it. He needed to know that it was an option, to leave. To break his promise if he needed to. To be small and hurt and wronged. 

 

To just _be_. 

 

Unbidden, the tears he’d thought he’d beaten, welled. He breathed through them but they were too heavy, more full of gratitude than sorrow. They cascade over, congest his nose. Terribly ugly. He used the sleeve Draco wasn’t still clinging to like a scared toddler to wipe at them, to hide his eyes and try to exert some control via messy sniffling.

 

Paradoxically, he felt much calmer. 

 

“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave!” he wailed.

 

Draco nearly slammed into him drawing him into his arms, squashing him. Harry’s chest hitched and he buried more of his raw eyes into Draco’s scrawny collar, shaking with sobs. 

 

“Then, don’t. Don’t go.”

 

“I hate feeling like this,” Harry said. 

 

“No shit, who wouldn’t,” Draco replied. 

 

Harry laughed, brokenly. 

 

“You don’t have to leave,” Severus said, finally sounding as tired and emotionally wrung as he probably felt.

 

Harry’s forehead pushed against Draco’s chest. 

 

“I hate this. I hate feeling this. I hate not being better, not being strong. I hate that I still want to _kill him_. I want to forgot all about him but I _can’t_ and I _hate it_!” 

 

They let him rail. 

 

“I hate being tired and mad and sad! I hate the guilt because it’s not my fault! It shouldn’t be my fault, but how can it not be when I’m supposed to be strong! I’m supposed to be... I’m supposed to be...” He fisted Draco’s robes. “I’m supposed to be _good_. I should have... I should have done more. Fought more! And then, and then Neville and, and Remus and...”

 

“Shh,” Draco hushed. “It’s not your fault.”

 

“It was never your fault,” Severus said darkly. 

 

“I’m supposed to be _good_.”

 

“You’re supposed to be _you_ ,” Draco said. He took Harry’s shoulders and forced him back.

 

Harry’s head hung. Not having it, Draco took his chin in his hands and forced his raw, wet face into the blistering light. 

 

“Fuck them. Fuck Colin and Kingsley and those damn aurors. I know their names. I won’t forget them. Fuck all of them! You,” Draco said, voice and palms shaking. “Don’t have to be _good_ to be good enough. Alright? You are plenty. More than anyone deserves. And bloody _stuff_ anyone who says different. Alright?”

 

Staring at him, at his brightness, Harry could only nod. 

 

Draco exhaled explosively, thankfully letting Harry hide in his collar again.

 

“I want to kill something,” he confessed to them. His hands still slightly shook. “This is... ridiculously sentimental. It’s gross.”

 

“Not as gross as my face,” Harry muttered.

 

“Oh, I’m burning these robes, darling.”

 

“No,” Severus forbade, stingy, at the same time Harry laughed. 

 

Draco ignored him. “A long bath. Mother always took long baths. With lavender. And mint.”

 

“Is that a request?” Severus asked after an awkward beat. 

 

“I could use a bath,” Harry admitted before Draco could reply. 

 

There was a pause before Severus sighed and got up, assumedly towards the bathroom. 

 

Harry felt too miserable to thank him but his gratitude was overwhelming. 

 

Draco ran his hands through Harry’s hair. He kissed the top of his head.

 

“What are we going to do with you?”

 

It seemed rhetorical, but Harry shrugged anyway. 

 

“I love you,” Draco told him. 

 

Harry fought off a pang. The words crawled up his throat but stuck. Draco only held him tighter. 

 

“Don’t worry, Harry. None of us are the same, but we’ll be ok. I know it.”

 

“You deserve better than this.”

 

“No,” Draco said. For a moment, he sounded like Severus. “We both deserve much much worse than this. And I’m damn glad every day that the world isn’t fair, that I somehow get to be with you, and with Severus. But with you, Harry, no, we don’t deserve you. I wish this had happened to me instead.”

 

“No,” Harry breathed, horrified.

 

“I do. I’m still just so so happy you’re here. It was... awful thinking that you hated us. I would rather have had it happen to me than go through that again.”

 

“You can’t... possibly...” Harry found is difficult to breathe.

 

Severus entered. “Your baths.”

 

If Harry weren’t reeling, he would have appreciated Severus’ dryness. 

 

Draco tried to stand and couldn’t. “Harry?”

 

“You can’t.”

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t mean that.”

 

“What did you say?” Severus demanded. 

 

“Of course I can bloody well can. I had no idea what was going on. I thought I’d done something, and every time I tried to talk, you, you looked disgusted. It was bloody awful.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Draco, who had folded his arms, rapidly undid them. “I told you it’s not your fault.”

 

“I should have-”

 

“Don’t be stupid!”

 

“I should have told you,” Harry continued. “Instead of going to the shack. I should have told you but I wasn’t thinking. I thought... you were in danger and I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Harry,” Severus said, kneeling in front of him. “It is easy to place blame in hindsight. I know. But it is not your fault.”

 

“How can you...”

 

“Understand?”

 

“Forgive me?” he finished. 

 

Severus gave him a queer look. 

 

“You forgave us.” Draco reminded him. 

 

“That’s not the same.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Severus said. “I was a bitter man who berated children to feel some minuscule power over my life. I was bigoted. I pretended to be a victim so I could feel justified being violent. It is inexcusable. Unforgivable. A single lapse in judgement, when you felt your lovers were in danger, does not begin to compare.”

 

Weakly, Harry said, “You turned sides.”

 

“I was being selfish. I wanted to save your mother. I didn’t care at all about you or your father, and I should have, if I loved her. Her happiness should have been paramount to any other.”

 

He had never heard Severus speak like this. His jaw was clenched, eyes turned.

 

In shame, he realized. 

 

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said.

 

“Now you will,” Severus said. It pained him. 

 

“Severus.” This was the most painful question Harry had ever asked. “Did you love her, like you love me?”

 

At last, Severus looked at him. 

 

“No. It was a sad excuse. It could hardly be called friendship and it should never have been called love.”

 

Harry breathed out. 

 

“Are we done now?” Draco asked, hiding discomfort in impatience. “I want to get in the bath.”

 

Harry nodded. He made sure to reach for Severus’ hand to pull him up. After a moment, he gave it, chary and uncertain. A conversation for another time. They’d torn up a lot of scars tonight.

 

Much later, after Draco had fallen asleep and Harry couldn’t, he called into the dark of their bedroom. 

 

Severus laid on Draco’s other side, voice low to keep from waking him.

 

Harry turned over, a rustle of sheets.

 

“I can’t sleep.”

 

“Evidently.”

 

“Severus,” he called again.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t want to be my mother’s replacement.”

 

“You are not,” he said, earnest, firm. 

 

“I don’t hate you for what you did. Dumbledore told me. About you. And the prophecy.”

 

After a long moment, he said, “I see.”

 

He turned back over to stare overhead at the black. 

 

“We don’t talk about it. The war.”

 

“It did not seem advantageous,” Severus replied. 

 

What an understatement. 

 

“It wasn’t about forgiveness,” Harry blurted. “I was angry. About a lot of things. All the time. I don’t think I ever divided it into parts. It was always just one big thing that I had to deal with.” He laid his arms on top of the covers. “Stopping Voldemort was all that mattered. I didn’t think about blaming you. He just had to be stopped. And you helped do that. So... it wasn’t about forgiveness. You helped stop him and that’s all that mattered to me.”

 

There was another moment of silence as Severus processed. 

 

“And now?” he asked. 

 

“Now, the Severus I know now and the Snape I knew then feel like two different people. You saved Draco. You followed Dumbledore’s order even though you knew it condemned you to death if we won the war. You protected me, when it gained you nothing. You fought against Voldemort, even though it put you in danger every single day. Those are the things I think about when I think about you and the war.”

 

Harry heard him shifting slightly, quiet in the velvet shadows, before he spoke in an odd, measured tone.

 

“Inaccurate. Though I shouldn’t be surprised and I should consider myself lucky.”

 

“Do you?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“Immeasurably.”

 

For some reason, something began to click in Harry’s head. A suspicion became a theory became a certainty. 

 

He leaned up on his elbow, though truly he could see nothing in the absolute black Severus kept the room in to sleep. 

 

“Severus, do you think I love Draco more than you?”

 

He sensed by the stillness of the air how tense Severus had gone. Harry was stricken. 

 

Harry rolled over Draco, who was practically dead to the world. With a liberal application of elbows, he managed to scoot his sleeping lover over into the indent left by his warm body and felt along Severus’ stony side. 

 

“Severus,” he whispered, feeling for his hand. It was wooden. “I would never demean either one of you by loving the other more.”

 

Severus didn’t react. 

 

God, their relationship was always a bit tetchy. Even before this tripe. 

 

Severus didn’t rely on words. He was a spy. Harry massaged his hand gently until some of the tension began to gradually leak out. 

 

“I can’t explain it,” Harry muttered, body curved into Severus’ shoulder. “I don’t know why it’s you anymore than I know why it’s Draco. But you understand me. And I think, maybe a little, I understand you too. The thought of you suffering, of what you had to go through, I hate that. But that you went through all of it, and changed, and became the man you are now, that’s really admirable. I’ve always thought so.”

 

Severus’ entire body stiffened then gave like a noose being cut. 

 

Severus turned toward their hollow, bringing up their hands.

 

“I would die before I let anyone hurt you again.”

 

Harry smiled.

 

Then, Draco turned and smacked him in the ear.

 

“That’s great and all,” he yawned, snuggling into Harry’s spine. “But go the fuck to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! We're moving into the resolution. I really hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's practically my only completed story. 
> 
> Just a little more final editing in the midst of my jobs for the last chapter. My students are doing their year-end performance. Omg, it's hectic. 
> 
> Thank you so much for comments and kudos! They give me life!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

Harry came home. Came _home_. Their tidy niche in the womb of the castle, where he could imagine living nowhere else. Their armchairs and desks and coats and Draco’s shelf and Severus’ shelf and Harry’s shelf with new-old books. And after years, they’d not faltered. 

 

So he took the rings out of his pocket, perching on the edge of Severus’ bureau, where the crotchety man sat and the young lord was reading, and dangled those rings in the air waiting for the clink of metal to be acknowledged. 

 

And he loved the way Severus’ face slackened with shock, the way Draco’s mouth gaped.

 

“Are those-”

 

Harry removed the rings from the necklace. He took Draco’s lovely fingers and slipped the wedding band onto the finger beside the one that kept his family crest. He’d had these specially forged. He listened as Draco’s breath caught. 

 

He then caught Severus’ hand and with a devilish grin produced the pewter circle. A ring would interfere with his potion work so Harry had charmed it. He slid closer and brazenly pushed the long, dark locks from his face. He rubbed his earlobe, warming the cool, soft skin. 

 

Severus had eyes like a jungle cat, feral and responsive, at once daring and insanely curious. Pressed close, he slipped the ring up to his ear and let the metal part at the touch of skin. It felt right somehow that his claim on Severus be mixed with blood, he thought as a needle emerged from inside the metal like a fang. 

 

The needle pierced his ear and clicked, joining again in one unbroken circle. It would be sore for a while, but as Harry moved his hands away, he was smugly pleased with the jewelry, shining darkly from the lank strands of his long, straight hair. 

 

“Unconventional,” Severus muttered. 

 

“You have a metal Strix in the corner and two wizards for lovers, who I am assured are quite the bit of trouble,” Harry said loftily. 

 

Severus’ hand came up to his waist. “Aren’t you suppose to have asked?” he said, without sounding very displeased. 

 

Harry leaned into his ear, the one heavy with pewter. “Severus Snape, will you marry me?”

 

Severus sniffed and turned away, almost managing to repress a grin. 

 

Harry glanced at Draco and found him still staring in awe of his own new accessory. Both rings held his magical residue. He’d been carrying them around forever, infusing them with his power and well as the oils from their constant handling. Draco’s shone, reflecting back at him. There was a slender splinter of blue quartz polished finely in the white gold, like a crack of lightning. When he raised his head, his eyes were shining. 

 

How could Harry resist kissing those lips? They leaned their faces together, feeling Draco’s nose in the corridor of his eye, Harry’s nuzzling his cheek. 

 

“When did you get these?”

 

Harry pulled back. “When did I ask for them, or how long have I kept them?”

 

Draco clamped his jaw shut, then chuckled softly. “Both,” he laughed. 

 

“Do you remember when you asked what my worst memory was?”

 

He stiffened, wary.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Maybe two days after. I spoke to the jeweler in Hogsmeade and we had a few consultations before I spoke to a smith.” He lifted Draco’s hand to admire the band on him. “The metal came from my vault. I melted down a few heirlooms. The quartz though belonged to your mother’s family, Draco. Despoina Kent.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened, recognizing the name. “She rode wyverns.”

 

“It seemed fit,” he purred. He manipulated his fingers. “I figured someone who owned wyverns would appreciate lending her stone to a wizard who owns a parselmouth.” 

 

Draco swallowed. His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated, and Harry could see the impression he’d made on his trousers. 

 

“What of your ring?” he said. His eyes fluttered to Harry’s naked hand. “Aren’t you going to wear one?”

 

“After I’ve had the honor of giving you both rings, you think I would deprive you of the same pleasure?”

 

Draco calculated what was left in his vault quickly. Harry could see it behind his eyes. Harry kissed the knuckle above his ring. When he leaned back, Severus placed a hand over his. Harry’s eyes slid helplessly to his ear. 

 

“Perhaps I should pierce you as well. Somewhere no one will see?” he said in that maddeningly attractive voice.

 

He took Severus’ hand and brought it to his throat. “Anywhere you want,” he promised. 

 

They had no ceremony, and though the students wondered at their professor’s peculiar, new adornment, of course no one said anything to the man’s face. Hermione of course would deduce, suspicions confirmed when, three weeks later, Harry appeared with a delicately wrought ring, embroidered with chasing serpents, on his finger and another golden ring in his right ear.

 

“Bold,” she would say.

 

“You wouldn’t believe where he really wanted to put it.”

 

“LALALALALA!” Ron would sing, and Harry would laugh.

 

And for each handful of days he counts, simple pleasures pile and outweigh life’s simple cruelties innumerably. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually finished something. 
> 
> I'm shook.
> 
> Thank you everyone for staying with me through this. It means the world to me, the reception this fic has had. I love every person who kudosed and commented. Thank you so much.
> 
> On to the next adventure! ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ


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